


Even If We're Just Dancing in the Dark

by tacosandflowers



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Teacher!Bellamy, artist!Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 08:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4660422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacosandflowers/pseuds/tacosandflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke needs help dealing with a creepy guy who's commissioned some paintings, and her best friend Bellamy ends up being the perfect fake boyfriend for the situation. But what happens when real feelings get involved?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even If We're Just Dancing in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This one goes out to Rita, who suggested the idea of best friends who end up fake dating, and Ellie, who nurtured the story and cheered me along with all the good ideas. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. Title from Bruce Springsteen.

It starts with the blank walls of a hospital lobby and a creepy guy named Cage who happens to have a lot of money. Clarke is cleaning in the bakery where she works to make ends meet when the call from her mother comes through.

 

“Clarke, this is such a great opportunity for you,” her mother says over the phone. “I know you’ve been waiting to see what happens with your art after finishing your MFA, and this is something happening.”

 

Clarke’s mother Abby is the dean of a newly renovated teaching hospital in need of some artwork to decorate its lobby. Cage Wallace—seriously, what kind of name is “Cage”?—is a wealthy businessman looking to make his mark (and impress his clients) as an art connoisseur and philanthropist. Apparently he’d seen Clarke’s work in her MFA show the year before and been impressed, and approached Abby with the idea of commissioning and donating a series of paintings.

 

“All I’m asking is that you meet with him and listen to what he has to say, Clarke,” she continues. “I know you’d do an amazing job with this commission.”

 

“Really?” Clarke asks. Her mother has become more accepting of her art over the years but it’s still a little jarring to hear it.

 

“Of course, Clarke,” Abby continues. “And in the interest of full disclosure, Wallace says he isn’t interested in any other artists for the commission, so if you won’t do it, we’ll have to find another person willing to pay for the artwork.”

 

“I see,” Clarke says, rolling her eyes, because there’s the pressure she’s used to. But she’s convinced to take the meeting. Clarke refuses to take money from her mother, so a commission is _very_ intriguing. Bakery work doesn’t pay very well.

 

Clarke’s art is her life. She fell in love with it in high school, and committed to it fully in college when she’d dropped pre-med—her mother had loved _that_ —and decided to major in art. She went to grad school and got her MFA in painting, and now she’s working at the bakery while she continues to paint in her free time. She’d had some success at her MFA show, sparking interest in her work and selling a few pieces, but has yet to see any real payoff going forward.

 

Until now, apparently. A commission would be amazing.

 

Wallace requests to have the meeting at her studio, so he can see what she’s currently working on. He has “ideas” he wants to discuss with her. Clarke is willing to do this, and her studio, which she rents in a building in the arts district near her apartment, is meant to be her professional space, anyway.

 

She cleans the studio and dresses more professionally than usual, and she’s feeling confident and motivated, like she’s _got this_ , until Wallace arrives. The minute she meets him, even though he’s all business in his suit and helmet of styled hair, she gets a creepy vibe. Some people just have a disturbing energy about them, and Cage Wallace is one of those people.

 

“I love your work, Clarke,” he says as he walks through her studio, looking around at her paintings. She’s pulled out a few finished pieces and also has one in progress that he can view.

 

When he looks back at her, he stares at her in a way that makes Clarke feel like she’s under a microscope, or within the crosshairs of a gun. It makes her skin crawl.

 

But this is business.

 

“Thank you,” she says, keeping her composure.

 

He walks over to her and ends up an inch too far into her personal space. “I’m not sure how much your mother’s told you.”

 

“Not much,” she says, moving backwards slightly.

 

“I’m a collector, so I make a point of keeping my out for new talent,” he continues. “I saw your MFA show last spring, and I really felt a… connection with your paintings. I bought one of them, actually.”

 

Clarke’s eyes widen. “You were the anonymous buyer?” she asks. She’d sold a few pieces from that show, and one buyer hadn’t left a name. She’d been a bit baffled, but it had been a hefty price, so she was happy to have sold it and didn’t think too much about it beyond that. And it turns out it’s this guy.

 

Yeah, this is... bizarre.

 

“Will you excuse me for a second?” Clarke asks as she turns to locate her phone.

 

She discreetly taps out a text message to her friend Bellamy:

 

_Can you come by the studio on your way home from soccer practice? This meeting is weird._

 

Bellamy is Clarke’s best friend. It’s not unusual for him to come by her studio. Sometimes they hang out and talk and drink beer and listen to music while she paints or draws, other times he reads on the couch she has set up in there while she works, and neither will say much for hours. They’re comfortable with each other, and they look out for each other too, which is why she knows he’s the one to ask. Having him here will make her feel better. Hopefully he’s not busy.

 

She tucks the phone back in her bag and turns back to Wallace. “Sorry about that,” she says, plastering a professional smile on her face.

 

Wallace just smirks as he leans back against her drafting table. “I’m an important man in this town, Clarke, from an important family,” he says with a smile that’s almost snake-like. “But I’ll wait for you. I have been completely captivated by your work, and I want to leave my mark on this hospital using your paintings.”

 

“That’s… so flattering,” Clarke manages to say.

 

“I’ve dreamed of this, as an art lover, leaving my legacy through gifts like this one,” Wallace continues. “My father was an art lover too, and I would make the donation in honor of him. But like I told your mother, it has to be you, or no one else. Because I truly believe only you can execute the kind of work I envision for this space. Shall we talk details?”

 

Wallace pulls up the floor plans of the hospital on his phone so he can describe exactly where he wants the work to hang and at what scale—he’s thinking a series of three large paintings—and when he mentions the price he’s willing to pay Clarke has to fight to keep her jaw from falling to the floor. It’s the kind of money that would allow her to quit her job at the bakery and focus full-time on her art for a while.

 

“You should take this opportunity, Clarke,” he says eventually, as if sensing her hesitation, and then he looks at his Rolex. “In fact, why don’t we discuss this further over dinner?”

“Oh!” Clarke stammers. She doesn’t like where this is going. “I, uh, couldn’t possibly—“

 

“I insist,” Wallace says, trying to get even closer.

 

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door, and Clarke lets out a sigh of relief.

 

**

 

Bellamy had gotten Clarke’s text as he was tossing his bag into the trunk of his car after coaching JV boys soccer practice at the high school where he also teaches English. He’d been planning on going straight home to make dinner and grade papers while watching Thursday Night Football—he’s got a fantasy team to keep track of, in the league with all their friends—but instead he books it straight over to her studio. There was something off about her text, and to be honest he’s kind of worried.

 

When he opens the door, he sees Clarke standing by her drafting table, and some dude standing entirely too close to her. He knows the dude is too close based on Clarke’s body language, which he can read like a book. She’s dressed up more than usual, and her makeup is done, and she looks every inch the hip artist. She also looks like she’d rather been anywhere other than where she’s standing in that moment.

 

“Hey,” he says as he walks in, trying to read from her facial expression what she wants him to do.

 

“Bellamy,” she says, and he can hear the relief in her voice. What the hell kind of meeting did he just walk in on?

 

The dude steps back from Clarke. He’s wearing an expensive suit and an irritated look on his face, no doubt inspired by Bellamy’s intrusion.

 

Clarke walks away from the drafting table. “This is Cage Wallace,” she says, a polite smile forced onto her face. “He was suggesting we continue discussing the commission over dinner, and I was just about to tell him you and I already had plans when you walked in.”

 

The dude—Wallace, who looks like an asshole already without having said a word—extends his hand to shake Bellamy’s and says, “Pleasure to meet you…”

 

“Bellamy Blake,” Bellamy supplies as he shakes.

 

“Mr. Blake,” Wallace finishes before looking back at Clarke.

 

Bellamy does not like the look on this guy’s face.

 

“Well then,” Wallace continues, studying the two of them. “I suppose if you’ve got plans then dinner isn’t a option. Clarke, I hope for both our sakes that you’ll accept this commission.”

 

“I need a little time to think about it,” she says.

 

Wallace nods. “Call me tomorrow with your decision?” he asks as he heads for the door.

 

“I can do that,” Clarke replies, and she says goodbye to Wallace.

 

“What the hell was that?” Bellamy asks as soon as the door shuts behind the guy.

 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Clarke says, letting out a sigh. “Okay, he was the creepiest guy ever, right?”

 

“Pretty fucking creepy,” Bellamy agrees.

 

“Ughhhh,” she says, pulling her hair out of the twist pinned to the back of her head. “I can’t believe I just met him here alone. I don’t know why, but I thought he’d be old and, I don’t know, not creepy.”

 

“What made you text me?” Bellamy asks.

 

“He just gave off this vibe as soon as he got here that rubbed me the wrong way,” Clarke explains. “And then he told me that he was the anonymous buyer from my show last year, which makes me squirm. Apparently he’s a fan of my work and knows things about me and I just, I knew you’d be driving past here on your way home and it seemed like a good idea to see if you could come by.”

 

“I’m glad you did,” he says.

 

“I am too,” she replies. “He completely changed his tack once you got here. It was almost like he was hitting on me, trying to get me to go to dinner with him, but then he backed off, thank goodness. I should keep you around more often.”

 

“Yeah, I could be your bodyguard, ward off aggressive art collectors,” Bellamy jokes, but he kind of means it.

 

“What do I do? He offered me so much money to do this commission.”

 

She tells him how much and his eyes go wide. “Holy shit,” he says. He knows how much Clarke’s art has sold for in the past, and this is a much, much higher price.

 

“He’s a creep. But the exposure would be amazing, right there in the hospital. This is a big break, potentially,” she says.

 

“You shouldn’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable, Clarke,” he tells her.

 

“I know,” she replies. “But this is huge, and my mom seems to have a lot riding on it. Which, if you had told me even three years ago that my mother would be relying on me to deliver something art-related, I would have laughed in your face.”

 

Bellamy nods, because it’s true. He and Abby Griffin had butted heads from time to time over this very issue, because Bellamy is not afraid of Clarke’s mom, and he never liked how Abby tried to mold Clarke into her own little doctor clone. So he’s been pleased to see Abby change her tune over the last few years.

 

“Ideally you could take the commission and have minimal contact with the guy from here on out, right?” he asks.

 

“I hope so,” Clarke says. “I just want to forget about it for a little while, to be honest. You don’t have actual plans tonight, do you? I just made that up so I had an excuse to get Wallace out of here.”

 

“Not unless you count watching football and grading papers,” he says. “Want to come over? We can make spaghetti. Octavia will probably be there too.”

 

Clarke’s eyes light up at the sound of good food and time with Bellamy and his sister, with whom he shares and apartment. “That sounds amazing.”

 

“You look nice, by the way,” he says, because she does. Clarke typically dresses in comfortable clothes, easy to paint and bake in, but when she does dress up, she always looks stylish and put-together and just… good.

 

She rolls her eyes. “I thought I should look professional, dealing with some businessman, but now I wish I’d worn my ratty old sweatshirt and running shorts,” she says, describing one of her favorite painting outfits. “Speaking of, why don’t I change before we head to your place? I don’t want to get spaghetti sauce on this top, it was expensive.”

 

**

 

Clarke loves cooking at Bellamy’s place. He’s skilled in the kitchen, having taken on a lot of responsibility when he was younger to help care for Octavia while their mother worked long hours. Spaghetti is one of her favorite Bellamy meals because of his killer bolognese recipe, and she brings an apple pie from the bakery for dessert.

 

“Delicious as always,” she says as she dips a piece of garlic bread into the sauce. “I really needed this after today.”

 

“It’s the best, right?” Octavia says. The three of them had cooked the meal together, and now they’re eating it in front of the TV, watching the Ravens beat the Steelers, a forgotten pile of papers lying next to Bellamy on the couch.

“Comfort food ain’t no joke,” Bellamy says.

 

“What are those?” Clarke asks, pointing to the papers.

 

Bellamy glances at them. “Those are a pile of essays by a bunch of fifteen-year-olds about _Oedipus Rex_.”

 

“Pleasant reading material,” she comments.

 

“Well, the unit we’re doing is called ‘Greek Tragedy,’ so nobody’s expecting pleasant,” he replies.

 

“I hated those plays in high school,” Octavia says, causing Bellamy to make a face at her.

 

“Do the kids freak out when they get to the big reveal?” Clarke asks.

 

“Oh, totally,” Bellamy says. “I’m sure there’ll be some choice lines in a few of these papers.”

 

Bellamy started working at the high school right after he finished his teaching degree, and Clarke knows he loves it. He teaches ninth and tenth graders, which means a lot of his time is spent helping them learn to write essays. He reads out particularly “creative” passages from time to time if he’s grading when Clarke’s around, much to her entertainment.

 

Clarke’s about to tell him she doesn’t mind if he grades while they hang out when her phone starts ringing. It’s her mother calling.

“Hey mom,” she says as she holds the phone to her ear.

 

“Hi Clarke,” Abby says. “I just got a call from Cage Wallace.”

 

 _Well, this’ll be fun,_ Clarke thinks. “Oh really?”

 

“Yes. He seems quite happy with your work and optimistic about moving forward with the commission, but he says you haven’t said yes yet?”

 

“I wanted to sleep on it,” Clarke says.

 

“He seems rather convinced you’ll take the offer,” Abby says. “He also said something about meeting your boyfriend?”

 

Clarke nearly chokes on the bite of spaghetti she’s just shoveled into her mouth and has to work to swallow it, her eyes going wide. Bellamy gives her a curious smile from the other end of the couch and Octavia gives her an absent pat on the back.

 

“Um, what did you say?” Clarke asks, although she fears she heard correctly.

 

“Wallace said your boyfriend came by the studio towards the end of your meeting. You didn’t tell me you were dating anyone,” Abby says.

 

Clarke doesn’t typically keep her mother posted on her love life, not that she’s had much of one lately, but more than that she’s distracted by the fact that Wallace thought Bellamy was her _boyfriend_. She didn’t do anything other than say that they had plans that night, to get rid of Wallace. Which she supposes, when seen from the outside, could potentially make it seem like they were together? Come to think of it, Wallace _had_ backed off when Bellamy came in. His body language and energy had changed substantially, and he’d politely taken his leave.

 

“I...” Clarke says, and trails off, because she’s not sure what to do.

 

“Listen, honey, it’s fine, I know you don’t tell me everything. But, assuming you take the commission, Wallace wants you and your boyfriend to come to a gala next week that we’re hosting for all the donors, so he can introduce you to some people. It’s Wednesday at 7. Can you make it?”

 

“I—probably?” Clarke croaks out. She looks at Bellamy, whose attention is now on the TV as he watches the replay of an interception.

 

“Excellent,” Abby says. “So you’re going to take the commission?”

 

“I think so,” Clarke admits. Bellamy’s returns his gaze to her, questioning. She must have a pretty insane expression on her face right now.

 

“Wonderful,” Abby says. “I have to go, but please let me know once you confirm with Wallace. I’ll email you the details about the gala.”

 

After Abby hangs up, Clarke slowly sets her phone down on the table.

 

“Why is your face so red?” Bellamy asks. “Did your mom say something?”

 

“Yeah Clarke, what’s up?” Octavia asks.

 

Clarke laughs nervously and reaches for her beer. “Apparently, creepy commission guy thinks you’re my _boyfriend_ ,” Clarke says to Bellamy, trying to make it sound humorous and casual, but unsure if she achieves that effect.  

 

Now it’s Bellamy’s turn to almost choke on spaghetti. He swallows and coughs and then he’s laughing a bit incredulously, so maybe she did succeed with the humor.

 

“Oh my god, really?” Octavia asks, her eyebrows arched high.

 

“Yeah,” Clarke replies. “He called her after our meeting. He’s—he invited us to a gala thing for the hospital next week.”

 

“What?” Bellamy asks. “Us? As in you and me?”

 

Octavia just starts laughing. They’d filled her in on the strange meeting and Wallace, so she knows the situation.

 

“I guess he just assumed we were dating when you showed up and I told him we had plans. Shit, Bellamy, I did not mean for him to read things like that.”

 

“I know,” Bellamy says. “Wait, he told your _mom_ you have a boyfriend? What did she say?”

 

“She just said I didn’t tell her I was dating anyone—which is true, because I’m not—and then told me about this gala that Wallace wants me to come to, with my boyfriend. I didn’t get much of a word in edgewise, actually,” Clarke says.

 

“You corrected her though, right?” Bellamy says.

 

Clarke feels her cheeks burn red and runs her hand over her face. “Not exactly,” she says. “Like I said, I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”

 

Bellamy is looking at her like she’s crazy. “You let your mom think we’re dating?”

 

“No! Or, I didn’t mean to, but she just kind of rolled with it and hung up before I could correct her? Besides, I don’t think she knows you’re the guy Wallace thinks I’m dating. She definitely would have mentioned that.”

 

She would have. Abby and Bellamy have a complicated relationship.

 

Bellamy knows this, because he’s laughing again. “I’d love to hear the choice words she’d have about that.”

 

“So would I,” Octavia says.

 

“What are you going do?” Bellamy asks.

 

Clarke shakes her head. “I don’t know. I mean, I could call her back and correct her, I guess, but—”

 

“No,” Octavia interrupts. “Don’t call her back.”

 

Bellamy and Clarke both look at her.

 

“Why?” Clarke asks.

 

Octavia looks between them. “Don’t you guys see what a perfect solution this is?”

 

“Perfect solution to what?” Bellamy asks.

 

“It’s obvious,” Octavia says. “Wallace is a creep, but Clarke, you need this commission. You said Wallace backed off when Bellamy got to the studio, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Clarke replies, unsure where she’s going.

 

“That’s because he thinks you’re taken. If he keeps thinking that, he’ll leave you alone while you’re doing the commission. So you should just let him keep thinking that,” Octavia finishes, sounding proud of herself.

 

“Are you suggesting I let Wallace, and by extension my own mother, continue thinking that Bellamy is my boyfriend?” Clarke asks. “That’s ridiculous.”

 

“What’s your other option, Clarke? Correct them both and have Wallace creeping on you until you finish those paintings?” Octavia asks.

 

Clarke bites her lip, because she really doesn’t know what to do. It does seem ridiculous, but at the same time, it would be a lot easier to do this commission if Wallace kept his distance.

 

“I guess you have a point,” Clarke says.

 

“What do you think?” Octavia asks Bellamy, who has been staring curiously at her as she talks.

 

“I think it sounds crazy,” he says, and Clarke’s heart sinks a little, oddly, because it’s not like him thinking the idea is crazy should hurt her feelings, right? And then he turns to her. “But what do you think, Clarke? Because if you think it would work, and it would make you feel more comfortable while you’re doing this job, then I would do it for you.”

 

The nervous churning in Clarke’s stomach over the whole situation shifts into something lighter. “Really? You would do that for me?”

 

“Bellamy would do anything for you, Clarke, and you know it,” Octavia says impatiently.

 

She’s not wrong. Bellamy has done a lot for Clarke over the years and vice versa. It’s the kind of supportive friendship they have. They’ve never been in a situation like this before, though.

“I would,” Bellamy says. “Even if it’s crazy.”

 

They look at each other for a moment, and she feels the trust between them that’s been there for years now, and she can’t fight the feeling that while she thinks this idea is insane, she also thinks it might work.

 

“Then I think it would make doing this commission a lot easier,” Clarke says. “It’s a lot to ask, though.”

 

“We hang out all the time anyway. Letting a few people think it’s more than what it is won’t take a ton of effort,” Bellamy says.

 

“It will take some effort,” Clarke replies, “because we have to go to this stupid gala together and act like a couple. But I think if we do that, and sell it well, we won’t have to do much more.”

 

“So it’s a date,” Bellamy says, and his reassuring smile makes her feel better. “I think I can handle acting like your boyfriend for a few hours. Do I have to wear a tie?”

 

“Yes,” Clarke says.

 

“I hate wearing ties,” Bellamy says, pulling a face, but then it transforms into a wicked smile. “But it’ll be worth it to see your mom’s face when she realizes I’m the boyfriend Wallace was talking about.”

 

Clarke can’t help but smile with him. “That _will_ be a sight to see.”

 

**

 

Pretending to be Clarke’s boyfriend is a crazy idea and Bellamy knows it, but when his sister frames it in her typical Octavia logic, it actually makes sense. Clarke needs this commission, and if he can help keep this Wallace guy at bay so she can paint in peace, then he might as well do it.

 

Octavia was right in her declaration that he would do anything for Clarke. They’ve been best friends since college, when they met freshman year in their orientation group. They’d been paired together for a campus scavenger hunt. She was a feisty overachiever with a misunderstood side, still grieving the loss of her father. He was a few years older than their classmates—having taken time off between high school and college after his mother died to take care of his sister—and had a bad attitude about everything freshman-related.

 

They’d bickered halfway through the scavenger hunt until their competitive sides had won out and they realized they were actually really good at solving the clues together, and from there on out they’d been a team. In spite of his determination to have a bad attitude, his friendship with Clarke had been an unexpected surprise, a real human connection that he hadn’t foreseen making. The rest was history.

 

They’ve been out of college for a few years now. They’re well into their twenties and getting their careers established, typical grownup shit, and their friendship has endured. Clarke is a very independent person, but when she needs Bellamy, he’s there for her. And this seems like one of those times.

 

He calls her a few days after they initially decide to go ahead with this plan.

 

“So what’s our story?” he asks.

 

“What do you mean?” she replies.

 

“Our story,” he continues. “Like, how we got together, how long we’ve been dating, that kind of thing. We need a story in case someone asks.”

 

“Wow, you’re prepared,” she remarks.

 

“Boy scout motto,” he says.

 

“You were never a boy scout,” she replies.

 

“Thank goodness. Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate their motto. Come on, Clarke, work with me here.”

 

He can hear her thinking over the phone, can picture the face she’s making. “Well, it has to be something my mom will buy.”

 

“The last time I saw your mom was at your birthday party in May, so she knows we weren’t dating then. It’s September now, so if we theoretically started dating in, say, June, then we’ve been together for what, over three months? That’s a legit amount of time to date someone, right?”

 

“Hmm, yeah, that works, actually,” Clarke says.

 

“Okay, so we’ve got the timeframe. Now we need the plot,” Bellamy continues.

 

“The plot?” she asks.

 

“Yeah, the story. The narrative. How we got together.”

 

“You make it sound like we’re writing a novel or something.”

 

“I teach English, Clarke. This is how my brain works.”

 

He hears her laughing. “Okay, okay. You’re right. We need a story. But it can’t be too complicated, otherwise we’ll get mixed up and caught in the lie.”

 

“I’m tempted to add an espionage caper subplot, but I’ll resist for the sake of keeping our shit together. When did you break up with whatsherface again?” Bellamy asks.

 

“If by ‘whatsherface’ you mean Lexa, it was February, and it’s absurd that you still pretend you don’t know what her name is.”

 

“Never liked her,” he says. “No need to know her name.”

 

“Funny how you never mentioned that when we were actually dating,” Clarke says.

 

“I was trying to be supportive, but clearly I was right all along. Next time I’ll tell you my gut instinct right upfront,” he says in his defense.

 

“You better,” she says.

 

“Deal. Okay, so you’ve been single since February, and I’ve been single since, well, I guess that depends on what we’re counting as single.”

 

“Oh god,” she says, and he can hear her rolling her eyes through the phone. “How long since you last had a regular in rotation?”

 

“A regular?” he asks, curious.

 

“Yeah, you know, the girls you sleep with more than once who stick around for a while but you never call your girlfriend?” Clarke says.

 

She knows him well. If he’s being honest, he’s had his fair share of luck with women over the years, especially in college, but over the past few years he’s calmed things down a bit. He hasn’t had any relationships as serious as the ones Clarke has been in, with Finn and then Lexa, but he has started to date women on a longer-term basis as he gets older. “I was seeing Roma for a while but that ended back in… when was it?”

 

“March,” Clarke says. “I remember because you made us pull her bracket out of the NCAA tournament pool.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Bellamy says, remembering. “Good thing, too, because her bracket was better than mine. Okay, so we both ended up single around the same time and then over the summer we realized we were into each other and started dating. How’s that?” They actually had spent a lot of time together over the summer, so it wasn’t too much of a stretch to add the feelings stuff on top of that.

“Sounds like a nice, general story,” Clarke says.

 

“We could add more details if you want. Who do you think would make the first move?” he asks.

 

“Like hypothetically speaking?” Clarke replies.

 

“Yeah,” Bellamy says. He’s genuinely curious about this, actually. It’s different for him, to actively think about the the two of them in this theoretical situation, because they’ve been friends for so long that he’s gotten very used to finding Clarke physically attractive and wonderful while simultaneously knowing that she’s off limits. She’s his best friend, and she’s always been in another category, it seems, set apart from other women. She knows him, warts and all. She’s not interested in him like that.  

 

He actively does not think about her like this. So this imaginary scenario where she _is_ interested is pretty funny to play with.

 

“I have no idea,” Clarke says.

 

“I’m about forty percent convinced it would be me and sixty percent convinced it would be you,” he continues after thinking for a moment. “So for the sake of the story let’s say you made your move in June and asked me to go see _Jurassic World_.”

 

“We did see _Jurassic World_ together,” Clarke points out.

 

“Yeah, so, pretend that was our first date, and we’ve been screwing happily ever since,” he finishes.

 

Clarke coughs on the other end of the line and he knows he’s tripped her up. “Oh have we?”

 

“Trust me, Clarke, you’re a satisfied woman in this parallel universe we’re creating,” he says. He doesn’t let his mind go there often—part of the active not thinking about it—but he suspects they would be compatible in bed. If they’re going to play this game, the least he should get out of it is the opportunity to tease her.

 

“Well I hope that’s a part of the story we don’t have to tell my mother or Cage Wallace on Wednesday,” she says. “Speaking of which, we should talk logistics.”

 

They agree that he’ll pick her up and they’ll drive to the gala together. When he pulls up in front of Clarke’s building on Wednesday evening wearing a jacket and tie, he feels nervous for the first time about all of this. Up until this point it’s felt a bit like an abstract scheme he and Clarke put together, but very soon this scheme is going to get tested in reality, and he’s wondering if they can actually pull this off.

 

Clarke walks out the door of her building wearing a black dress that follows the lines of her body without being too tight, and a pair of heels that make her legs look killer. She looks ready to go rub elbows with rich people. Bellamy knows Clarke can move at ease in situations like this, given her upbringing as the daughter of a successful doctor and engineer, but he’s always felt out of place around people with money.

 

He wonders if one of the more implausible parts of their ruse is that a beautiful, up-and-coming artist like Clarke—who could have any man or woman she chose, really—would date an ordinary public school teacher like him.

 

“Hey,” she says as she slides into his car. “You ready for this? Last chance to back out.”

 

He swallows as he takes in her smoky eyes and wonders if this is what she would wear if they were on a real date. “Yeah, I’m ready.” He’s not exactly sure that he is, but he’s committed to this, so, fake it til they make it, he supposes, even to themselves.

 

They talk a bit about their days, but are mostly quiet on the way over, and he wonders if she’s nervous, too.

 

She clears her throat as they draw closer to the hotel downtown where the gala is being held. “I guess we should just go in and find my mom and see where it goes from there? We really just have to satisfy her and Wallace and meet a few people, and then we can leave.”

 

“Okay,” Bellamy agrees. And with that, it’s show time.  

 

Once they get inside, everything is already in full swing, catering staff swirling around clusters of important-looking people with drinks and canapés. Clarke pauses inside the door, scanning the room for a moment until her eyes settle on her mother. She reaches out and grabs Bellamy’s hand with hers, which surprises him at first, but he remembers that they’re supposed to be a couple, so hand-holding is a thing they would do.

 

Clarke leads him through the crowd until they get to her mother, and he expects Clarke to let go of his hand, but she doesn’t.

 

“Clarke,” Abby says, turning to smile at her daughter before her face becomes confused. “And Bellamy?”

 

“Hi Dr. Griffin,” he says.

 

Abby looks back at Clarke. “I thought you were bringing your—“ and then she stops talking as she sees their joined hands. She puts two and two together and her confusion turns to shock. “ _Bellamy_ is your boyfriend?”

 

Bellamy feels a mix of entertainment at Abby’s bewilderment and insult at the fact that she thinks it’s that much of a stretch for Clarke to be dating him.

 

“Yes,” Clarke says, squeezing his hand. “He is.”

 

“Since when?” Abby asks, shaking her head. “I know you two have always been close, but I didn’t realize…”

 

“Since June,” Bellamy answers, suddenly very happy they had worked out their story beforehand.

 

“We’ve been keeping it pretty quiet,” Clarke says, and then she looks at Bellamy with a sly smile that he swears carries a hint of shyness, looking exactly like a besotted girlfriend would look in this situation. “We were friends for so long, we just wanted to make sure it was right before we told people.”

 

Damn, she’s good at this already.

 

Abby’s face is starting to look less shocked, but she isn’t exactly smiling, either. “Well, that’s a big change,” is what she says.

 

Clarke squeezes his hand again and moves closer so her bare arm brushes against him. Her palm is slightly damp, the only indication that she’s not completely calm right now. “It is,” she says. “But it’s a good change.”

 

Abby looks Bellamy up and down, and he knows he’ll never measure up to her expectations in this role. _And it’s just a role_ , he reminds himself, _not reality, so you don’t have to get all offended._

_But you do have to sell it._

 

“It is good,” he says, holding Abby’s gaze. “I’ll take good care of her, I promise.” And then he looks down at Clarke, meeting her besotted girlfriend look with his own protective boyfriend look. “Do you want me to get you a drink?”

 

“That would be great, thanks,” she replies.

 

Before he can stop himself, he leans down and kisses the top of her hair briefly, catching Abby’s eye as he pulls away, and then he lets go of Clarke’s hand and heads for the bar.

 

Oh, he will sell this.

 

**

 

Clarke blinks to hide the stunned feeling coursing through her veins after Bellamy’s casual kiss—they really should have discussed the whole PDA thing before they took this show public, she supposes—and smiles as she watches him go, exactly like an adoring girlfriend would. But internally, she’s kind of panicking.

 

The idea to pretend Bellamy was her boyfriend had seemed ridiculous, initially, but then it made just enough sense that they’d both fully committed to it without really thinking it through. At least, she hadn’t fully thought it through, because the problem with fake dating Bellamy is that Clarke’s always secretly been a little in love with Bellamy. Which makes this whole situation a bit of a mindfuck.

 

She’s not, like, dying with hidden passion or anything, but Bellamy is her best friend, and he’s handsome and smart and funny and cares about her like nobody else in the world. They love each other, no question. They even say this to each other sometimes, usually in moments of drunkenness, but they’re not _in_ love. Clarke knows the difference, because she’s been in love with other people and knows what it’s like to be on both the giving receiving ends of that kind of feeling.

 

This is how she knows she’s a little in love with Bellamy. Or rather, she’s always suspected that she _could_ end up actually in love with Bellamy—like, full-on, misery-inducing love—if she isn’t careful. And she needs to be careful, because falling in love with Bellamy would be a disaster. He doesn’t see her that way, it would just be humiliating for everyone involved.

 

Him kissing her in public is not going to help her be careful. None of this fake dating stuff is. But it’s too late now.

 

“So,” Abby says, drawing Clarke’s attention back to her. “You’re dating Bellamy Blake.”

 

“You don’t have to sound so excited about it,” Clarke replies.

 

“Don’t get me wrong, Clarke, I’m just surprised, that’s all,” Abby says. “I didn’t realize you felt this way about him.”

 

“I didn’t either, until recently,” Clarke says as she glances over to where Bellamy is talking to the bartender. She sees he’s gotten her a glass of white wine, and she’s thankful he knows what her favorite is, because should use a cold sauvignon blanc right about now.

 

When Bellamy returns, Abby starts introducing them to some people, and they’re both on their best, couple-esque behavior. She’s surprised at how easy it is, now that they’ve gotten the initial stuff out of the way. She finds herself experimenting with casually touching his arm or reaching for his hand as they smile and nod at people, and he seems to be doing the same thing, putting his arm around her waist or her shoulders. When Cage Wallace finds them, she’s tucked against his side as they chat about the upcoming local election with one of Abby’s friends.

 

“Well, if it isn’t my artist,” Wallace says as he approaches, and Clarke bristles at the possessive tone. She feels Bellamy’s arm tighten slightly around her.

 

“Hello, Mr. Wallace,” she says.

 

“Please, Clarke, call me Cage,” he insists. “I’m so glad you could make it. Mr. Blake, good to see you again.”

 

“Please, call me Bellamy,” he says, and Clarke has to stifle a smile at his sarcastic undertones.

 

“So I trust you’ve already started working,” Cage says.

 

She has. The first check had been deposited in her bank account shortly after she’d called Wallace and told him she would accept the commission, so she’s purchased the supplies she needs and begun planning. Her studio is currently filled with sketches and swatches of colors she’s mixing and testing.

 

“I have,” she tells him. “I’m excited about these pieces.”

 

And she is. She has an idea of what she wants to do with the series, and she relishes having the time to just paint, now, and create this work.

 

“Excellent,” Wallace says, with his intense gaze fixed on her. “That’s what I like to hear. Please, Clarke, I’d love to introduce you to some people. I want everyone to know whose work will be gracing the walls of the new hospital. Will you come with me?”

 

They follow Wallace as he takes them around the room, in which he seems to know everyone. It’s a real society event, and there’s even a photographer. Clarke knows some of the people through her mother, but mostly it’s a sea of strangers, and she’s happy she has Bellamy by her side, a constant in all of this.

 

“I think Wallace has said your name over thirty times tonight,” he whispers in her ear after a while, his breath tickling against her skin and hair.

 

“You’re counting?” she whispers back.

 

“He has a really creepy way of saying it,” he says, and then he’s leaning back and smiling as they get pulled into yet another chat with some people they’ve never met.

 

At one point, Bellamy straightens considerably as Wallace leads them toward a tall man and a chilly-looking older blonde woman, who raises her eyebrows at their approach.

 

“Mr. Blake,” the woman says. “I didn’t realize you were coming to the gala tonight.”

 

“Hi, Principal Sydney,” he says, and Clarke can hear the shift in his tone.

 

“You two know each other?” Wallace asks.

 

“Mr. Blake teaches English at Central High,” the woman says.

 

“Of course,” Wallace says. “So you’re his boss.”

 

“I am,” Sydney says with a smile, and Clarke can’t help but dislike the way the looks condescendingly at Bellamy. “So what brings you here?”

 

“This is my girlfriend, Clarke Griffin,” Bellamy says, and Clarke’s heart jumps a little at the words. “She’s been commissioned to do a series of paintings to hang in the new hospital lobby.”

 

Principal Sydney looks at Clarke. “You’re Abby Griffin’s daughter, aren’t you?” she asks. “My husband here is a doctor at hospital.”

 

“Small world,” Clarke says charmingly as she reaches for the woman’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

 

They chat for a moment, mostly Wallace rambling about Clarke’s work, and Clarke can’t help but notice that Principal Sydney had become considerably warmer towards Bellamy after he introduced her to Clarke. She even suggests that Clarke come in and speak with some of the upper level art classes at the high school. It’s a weird interaction.

 

After it’s over, Bellamy takes Clarke’s hand and leads her away until they are able to lose Wallace, and then heads for a set of open french doors leading out into a courtyard. There are a few other people outside, and he heads past them until he and Clarke are standing in a quiet, private place near a wall.

 

“Okay, I did _not_ know my boss was going to be here tonight,” Bellamy says. “I despise that woman.”

 

“That’s the bitchy principal you hate,” Clarke observes. She knows Bellamy has clashed with the woman at school board meetings in the past.

 

“She’s the worst. Sorry, I needed to come out here for a breather, I just got a little thrown off.”

 

“It’s fine,” Clarke says. “We’ve been in there socializing non-stop for way longer than I expected. I could use a breather too.”

 

“It seems to be going pretty well though, right? The pretend stuff, I mean.” he asks.

 

“I think so,” she says.

 

Bellamy smiles. “Your mom reacted just like I expected her to. She’s going to be so happy when we ‘break up.’”

 

Clarke stomach lurches, which is silly, because of course there will be a break-up, this charade isn’t meant to last forever. “She doesn’t dislike you as much as you think she does.”

 

“Her face sure says otherwise,” Bellamy replies, his smile curving. “It was pretty awesome to make her scowl like that.”

 

“You’re terrible,” Clarke says with a laugh, and then she notices a familiar suited profile coming through the French doors. “Shit, I think Wallace found us.”

 

Bellamy turns his head and sees him. “Geez, can’t this guy give his artist and her boyfriend a few minutes alone?” he says, and then he takes a few steps forward. Clarke instinctively moves until she is up against the wall of the hotel, and instead of stopping Bellamy keeps moving toward her until he’s only a few inches way, one of his hands planted against the wall near her shoulder.

 

“What are you doing?” Clarke asks, confused.  

 

“I’m leaning,” he explains.

 

“You're what?” she says, still not getting it, distracted by the closeness of his body to hers.

 

“Leaning,” Bellamy says. “Like in _While You Were Sleeping_.”

 

Clarke’s eyes widen at the mention of one of her favourite guilty pleasure movies. “Are you seriously talking about _While You Were Sleeping_ right now?

 

“I am talking about it, and I'm leaning, just like in that one scene, remember?” Bellamy says, referring to the part where the two protagonists are standing in a position very similar to theirs and discussing it. “Bill Pullman is fucking right in that movie,” Bellamy continues, his voice quieter now that he’s closer. “Me leaning into you like this looks exactly like what you want Wallace to think it is. You know the line, Clarke.”

 

She does. She's seen that movie an embarrassing number of times, and so has Bellamy. In college, when they would lounge around together on hung over Sundays, he pretended to read books while she watched movies, and he always ended up putting the book down and just watching with her.  _While You Were Sleeping_ had been a regular in the rotation.

 

He's got her backed up against the wall of the building, his hand against the brick, looking down at her. She feels likes she's physically closer to him than she's ever been, which is ridiculous because they hug all the time and he's not even touching her right now. But it _feels_ like he’s touching something inside of her, and it's different than anything she's ever felt before.

 

She clears her throat, but her voice still comes out husky. 

 

"’Leaning involves _wanting_...’” she starts, quoting the line, but trails off as Bellamy smiles at her and the divot in his chin this close makes all the words in her brain jumble together.

 

“’And _accepting_...’" he continues. “Leaning. It works, right?”

 

Of course he’s good at this, _of course_ he knows that leaning works, because Bellamy has always had a way with women. He’s not a player or a womanizer or anything, but he has some kind of aura about him that women love. He’s not so much the silent, brooding type as the vocally grumpy, brooding type, which you’d think would not be attractive, but in Bellamy’s case it’s the opposite. Clarke has lost count of the times over the years she's watched it happen, women getting drawn in by some clever remark of his, or the sweep of his shoulders—he’s hot, that surely helps—and Bellamy charming them to whatever extent he chooses.

 

She knows the way Bellamy looks when he’s focused on a woman. Clarke would be lying if she said she hadn't imagined from time to time what it would be like to be the object of that particular kind of focus, the one being charmed. And now she knows what it's like. It's intoxicating. The part of her that’s always been a little in love with him is feeling the very real effects of this leaning thing, and it's scaring her shitless. She’s not being very careful right now.

 

 _It's not real_ , she thinks. _He's just pretending, and so are you_. Her rational mind is telling her this, but her body is telling her the exact opposite. She feels surrounded by him. His eyes are locked on hers, and she can see his pupils moving as they flick between her own. She'd painted Bellamy once, years ago, and at the time thought that she'd managed to capture the color of his eyes, but suddenly she's not so sure. She has an urge to paint him again.

 

“It works,” she whispers, causing his gaze to touch on her mouth briefly, and now it’s getting really dangerous. She looks at his mouth, too, and the urge to paint him merges with a very different kind of urge altogether, one that’s really not part of this plan.

 

“Excuse me,” a voice calls out, and Bellamy and Clarke both jump slightly, shaken out of the moment. It’s Wallace, of course. “Clarke, the mayor just arrived, and I’d love to introduce you. I promise I’m nearly through with showing you off.”

 

“Um, that’s fine,” Clarke says. She looks at Bellamy, who is wearing an inscrutable expression on his face. “Ready to go back inside?”

 

She doesn’t really want to meet any more people, but she’s also pretty rattled by what she just felt, so going inside seems like a better choice than trying to act like she didn’t just realize she wanted to kiss him.

 

She’s beginning to think this might be a bit more of a minefield than she’d originally anticipated.

 

**

 

The day after the gala, Bellamy is grading in his classroom after school when his phone chimes with a few text messages from Octavia.

 

_You’re in the paper, nerd_

_With your ‘girlfriend’_

She texts him a link to the local paper’s website and he clicks on it, leading to a photograph of himself and Clarke at the gala. His arm is around her waist and he’s smiling down at her as she smiles at something out of the shot. The caption includes both of their names and says something about Clarke’s hospital commission, and Bellamy clicks through and realizes theirs is just one of about fifteen photos in a slide show covering last night’s event.

 

It’s actually a great photo of them. And he definitely looks like he’s into her in a romantic way. As he’d discovered the night before, pretending to be into Clarke is no chore on his part, because he finds it comes pretty naturally. It had been strange at first, to be physically affectionate with her in a more intentional way than their usual contact. But once they’d gotten started, it had been easy to continue, her hand sliding into his or his arm pulling her to him throughout the evening.

 

And then there was the leaning thing. Yeah. For some reason that tactic had popped into his mind at just the right moment and he’d managed to buy them a bit of extra time away from Wallace while simultaneously continuing to convince Wallace that they were a couple. Bellamy had been pretty proud of himself at first, for thinking of it. Bill Pullman was _right_ about that shit, which Bellamy knew from using this move on more than one occasion. But once he was actually leaning into Clarke, his bravado faltered and it was like something shifted, and it was suddenly more real than it was supposed to be.

 

He figured part of it was a normal physical reaction to being very, very close to Clarke, and there was something about getting caught up in her eyes like that, and, well, leaning works its magic even when it’s fictional, apparently. He’d had a brief flash in his mind of what it would be like to kiss her in that moment and his brain had been screaming _shut it down, this is pretend_ when Wallace had interrupted them.

 

They’re really good at pretending, apparently, because they’ve managed to sell the charade to a much wider audience than they’d ever intended to. He forwards the link to Clarke with a text.

 

_Seen this yet?_

His phone rings a moment later, and it’s her.

 

“Oh my _god_ ,” she says. “Did they seriously put that on the internet?”

 

“That’s what a hyperlink is, Clarke,” he replies.

 

“Shut up. I can’t believe this! That photo makes it look like we’re a—a—“

 

“A couple?” Bellamy supplies. “Which is exactly what we wanted people to think we were? So really, this is an indicator of success.”

 

“Too _much_ success,” Clarke says. “We were just supposed to convince my mom and Wallace and leave it at that, not get our photo in the goddamn paper.”

 

“Is it that embarrassing to be seen with me?” he asks, mostly joking, but she does seem slightly upset.

 

“No! God, Bellamy, of course not. It’s actually a really good photo of us. We look hot.”

 

“We do, don’t we?” he agrees.

 

“But it’s on the internet. Which means anyone can see it. How long until your sister puts it on social media?”

 

“Why?” he asks.

 

“Because Octavia puts everything on social media, and the existence of this photo means we have to decide how to deal with our friends seeing it, and other people, I don’t know, like coworkers, casual acquaintances. Hell, your boss thinks we’re dating. I’m just afraid this is getting more involved than we originally intended.”

 

He’d been thinking the same thing, so he’s relieved to hear her say it. “I know,” he replies.

 

“I thought we were all prepared with our timeline and our story, but now we need a real plan. And we need an exit strategy.”

 

“A what?” he asks.

 

“You made me think of it last night when you joked about how happy my mom will be when we break up. Well, we _will_ have to break up eventually.”

 

It’s weirdly uncomfortable to think about it, but it’s true. “You’re right,” he says eventually.

 

“So what do we do?” she asks.

 

“Well, Octavia knows the truth, but who else? Did you tell Raven?”

 

“Of course I told Raven. She just laughed at me. Did you tell Miller?”

 

Miller was his best friend besides Clarke, like Raven was Clarke’s best friend besides him. “Not yet, but I probably should, because he’ll see right through any lie we tell him.”

 

“But our other friends, what are we going to tell them?”

 

“Well, we could tell them the truth and swear them all to secrecy, but they’re not the most discreet bunch,” Bellamy says. “Our other option is just tell them we’re dating, and maintain the cover more easily.”

 

“It doesn’t feel, I don’t know, dishonest to you?” Clarke asks.

 

“I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think it’s possible to pull off a fake relationship by being honest,” Bellamy says.

 

Clarke sighs. “I know. Okay, well, if we’re going to convince our friends, how do we make them think we’ve been dating since June? Because they’ve seen us plenty since June and are going to wonder how they missed this.”

 

“Right,” Bellamy says. “Why did we pick June again?”

 

“Because you wanted our first date to be _Jurassic World_. It’s too far back, they’re never going to buy this.”

 

“Wait, remember what you said to your mom last night about how we were keeping it quiet until we knew it was right? We just stick with that story, tell them we’ve been secretly seeing each other.”

 

“You seriously think it’s a good idea to add _secret dating_ to this?” Clarke asks.

 

“It’s the only way to make the story line up with what we’ve already told your mom,” he says.

 

“And it would line up? None of them saw you at the bar or a party taking home any women over the summer?”

 

“No,” Bellamy says. “To be honest there wasn’t much of that happening over the summer, so we’re clear.”

 

“Really?” Clarke asks.

 

“You saw me more than anyone, you’d be the first to know that kind of thing.”

 

“I guess you’re right. Okay, secret dating it is. God, Bellamy, I am so sorry I dragged you into this, it’s gotten so convoluted,” she says.

 

“It’s fine, Clarke, I came willingly. We’re in this together, okay?”

 

“You’re too good to me.”

 

“I know I am,” he teases.

 

“This is crazy.”

 

“I know. But we’re already in it pretty deep. Might as well get it right.”

 

“We only have to do this until I finish these paintings and Wallace is off my back,” Clarke says. “And then you’re free. We’ll have some amicable split and everything can get back to normal, okay?”

 

After that conversation, it feels like they have more of a plan than they did before, which makes Bellamy feel slightly more in control than he had after the gala, but not by much. He knows the pace at which Clarke works. She’s going to be working on these paintings for at least a month, probably longer. When it’s all said and done he wouldn’t be surprised if this fake relationship lasted longer than the bulk of his past real relationships, which tended to be more along the lines of “having fun” than “serious.”

 

But dating Clarke? He wouldn’t just have fun with Clarke, if they were really together. Clarke deserves someone who would give her everything. In the same way that he’d wondered who would make the first move if they were really in this situation, he’s tempted to wonder how he would act if he were really her boyfriend, if he went all in. But he keeps that thought isolated, and manages to push it aside when it does come up, because he’s not going all in with Clarke, so there’s really no point in indulging that question. He just has to appear to the external observer as if he’s going all in.

 

Miller laughs when he tells him what’s going on. Bellamy thinks of Clarke mentioning that Raven had laughed too. He’s glad to know their close friends have such faith in them (not).

 

“Whose stupid idea was this?” Miller asks. They’re having beers at the bar on Saturday night, waiting for the rest of their friends show up.

 

“Octavia’s,” Bellamy answers.

 

“And you went along with it?” Miller asks.

 

“You haven’t met this creep,” Bellamy says. “He’s a piece of work. You know Clarke’s my best friend. I have to help her out with this.”

 

“I get you,” Miller says. “But I still think it’s hilarious.”

 

“I couldn’t tell by your blatant laughter,” Bellamy replies. “And I’m telling you this, but nobody else, okay? Those idiots can’t keep their mouths shut. And could you please stop talking about how stupid you think it is? It would be nice to have some support.”

 

“This is going to be so entertaining to watch,” Miller says with a smirk. “You and Clarke have been dancing around each other for years and now you’re pretending to date each other? Train. Wreck.”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Miller,” Bellamy says, and drains his beer. “We have not been ‘dancing around each other for years.’”

 

“You keep telling yourself that, bud,” Miller says with a laugh.

 

It’s a good night to get drunk, probably.

 

**

 

Clarke shows up at the bar with Raven after a solid pre-gaming session at their apartment beforehand. She and Bellamy had decided to meet at the bar instead of arriving together, so as to make this less of a big deal debut of their fake relationship and more of an organic “Oh hey by the way we’ve been secretly dating since June and none of you knew it, let’s get drunk like we always do” session.

 

When they get to the bar, Clarke is glad she’s already started drinking, because Jasper is in her face immediately.

 

“Is it true?” he asks, clutching a beer and bouncing enough that she’s afraid the liquid might spill.

 

“Is what true?” she asks, pushing him far enough back that she’s out of the spill zone.

 

“You and Bellamy,” Jasper says, exasperated. “We all saw that photo of you guys from the slideshow. Monty says you could just be, like, really touchy friends who go to fancy events together, but Octavia made a winky face and said we have to ask you guys and to me that indicates that something is up.”

 

Clarke looks around the bar until she spots Bellamy sitting at a table with Miller and several of their other friends. He catches her eye and smiles, waving her over, and her heart thuds at the sight of him. They’ve talked since their appearance at the gala but they haven’t seen each other since then, having both been pretty busy. He looks hot in a black t-shirt that clings to his biceps—he has really excellent arms, she’s always thought.

 

 _Be careful_ , her brain warns her, which she needs to hear. Because after the whole _leaning_ incident, she suspects her feelings are a bit more tangled than she’d originally thought. If she were really stupid, she would let this turn into having a full-blown secret crush on her best friend while pretending to date him, which is a terrible idea. But she’s not that stupid. Right?

 

“I’m going to get a drink and join everyone at the table,” Clarke says.

 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Jasper whines.

 

She ignores him and goes for the drink, because she’ll just end up hearing the same question from everyone else and they might as well answer all the questions at once, and together, so there’s less chance of mixing up their stories.

 

When she gets to the table, Miller gets up from where he’s sitting next to Bellamy and gives her a knowing look. “Want my seat, Clarke?”

 

“Sure,” she says, trying to tamp down her blush.

 

Bellamy turns to her as she slides into the chair next to him and gives her a huge smile. “Hi,” he says, and she can’t help smiling back, because his is contagious. Her heart is still thudding but she’s sure it’s because she’s just nervous about doing this in front of their extended friend group for the first time.

 

“Hi,” she says almost shyly. “How’s it going?”

 

“Good,” he says, and reaches his arm around her shoulders. “How was your day?”

 

“Good,” she says. “I worked in the studio mostly.”

 

“I can tell.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, you have streak of green paint just below your ear,” he says softly, surprising her by running his thumb lightly over the spot on her neck.

 

“Good thing this crowd is used to seeing me covered in paint,” she says back, feeling goosebumps at his touch.

 

“Ahem,” Jasper says, having also found a seat at the table. “When you two are finished, some of us have a question for you. You can’t be rude and ignore me now, Clarke.”

 

Bellamy and Clarke break eye contact and turn to face Jasper, and Bellamy keeps his arm around Clarke’s shoulders. “What’s that, Jasper?” he asks.

 

Jasper taps at his phone briefly and then holds it up for all to see. It’s the photo of them from the gala. “This photograph of you two showed up a few days ago, and it’s caused a bit of a debate.”

 

“Oh really,” Bellamy says. He sounds playful, and Clarke suspects he’s having fun with this. Messing with Jasper is usually fun.

 

“Yes,” Jasper says, looking around at his captive audience. “Now, this is particularly interesting to those of us who have known you since college, because of our long term observations. It began in the fall of two thousand and—“

 

“Just get to the question, Jasper,” Clarke says, cutting him off, because she doesn’t want to hear whatever itemized list he’s about to dramatically recite. She’s afraid it might stir up too many of the feelings she’s trying to quash.

 

“Are you two dating now or what?” Jasper asks.

 

Everyone at the table is watching them. Jasper, Monty, Monroe, and Fox all look like they’re waiting very expectantly. Raven, Miller, Octavia, and Octavia’s boyfriend Lincoln are all smirking.

 

“Yes,” Bellamy says to them, and then turns to Clarke with a look that seems to say _here goes nothing_. “We are.”

 

The commotion that follows is expected. When it dies down a bit, Monty is the one to take the lead.

 

“Okay, seriously? This is actually happening? You know we had a pool going on this in college that got dissolved after graduation. It’s extremely rude of you guys to start dating after the pool was dissolved. Now nobody gets paid.”

 

“You had a pool going in college?” Clarke asks.

 

“Duh,” Jasper says. “You guys were attached at the hip in college.”

 

“Why did you dissolve the pool?” she asks. She’s morbidly curious now.

 

“You were getting serious with Finn, we were all going off into our adult lives, blah blah blah,” Jasper says. “Clearly we were wrong and should have kept the pool going.”

 

Clarke can feel Bellamy laughing, because he’s still holding her close. “You guys are ridiculous. I’m glad none of you are making any money off of this,” he says

 

“Trust me, there are plenty of other ways to monetize your relationship going forward,” Jasper says.

 

“Could you not?” Bellamy asks.

 

“Don’t worry, nobody will actually tell you about it until after the fact,” Jasper says.

 

“What _I_ want to know is when this whole thing started,” Monroe says, leaning forward.

 

“Um, it actually kind of started back in June,” Clarke says. She feels Bellamy’s fingers moving slightly against her upper arm.

 

“June!”  Fox exclaims. “You’re kidding. You guys have been together for _months_ and you didn’t tell us?”

 

Clarke looks up at Bellamy just as he’s looking down at her, and he gives her a reassuring smile.

 

“Look, if you were betting on it in college, you guys already know that this has been a long time coming,” Bellamy says. “But it’s a big deal for us, deciding we wanted to be more than friends. We needed time to make sure it was right, so that’s why we didn’t tell anyone until now.”

 

It would be a big deal, Clarke thinks, if it were true. It would be a huge change. A huge _risk_ , really, to go from best friends to lovers. Something she would want to carefully consider. The story makes more sense than she’d originally thought.

 

“Wow, so you guys are serious,” Fox says.

 

Bellamy looks down at Clarke again with what she’s beginning to think of as his “boyfriend eyes” and says, “Yeah. We are.”

 

He is _way_ too good at this.  

 

After that, a lot of the evening is just like when they always hang out with their friends at the bar, everyone getting rounds and talking trash and eventually playing pool or darts or Big Buck Hunter. She and Bellamy are used to being around each other in this scenario. To go with their story, though, they add more touching. A lot more touching. At the gala that they’d figured out what worked when it came to pulling this off, and physical contact was clearly the answer.

 

So they keep going with that. There are also plenty of lingering looks, which they’d automatically started when Clarke showed up, and it makes sense, really, because they have always been good at communicating without words. This is like an extension of that. And they do need to communicate as they coordinate their actions, so wordless looks are good for that.  

 

What Clarke isn’t prepared for is the flirting.

 

The touching and the looking combined are already a convincing case, she thinks, but when flirting gets added to the mix, she feels like they’re so convincing that it’s actually kind of absurd. She and Bellamy have always had their own banter, a rhythm between them that just works. But in this scenario, the banter takes on a different tone. It’s more playful, and the energy between them is electric.

 

It helps that they’re both drinking plenty.

 

They end up playing pool against Raven and Monty. It turns out pool is a great time to flirt with one’s boyfriend, Clarke discovers, when she straightens after missing a shot—hey, she’s tipsy—and Bellamy’s hand grazes over her ass.

 

“Did you just touch my ass?” she asks, surprised.

 

“I did,” Bellamy says with a grin. “I’m allowed to touch your ass now. You’re my girlfriend.”

 

“You’re drunk,” she says.

 

“So are you,” he replies. “And you’ve got a great ass. You suck at pool, though.”

 

“Shut up!” she says, planting her hand against his chest and letting it linger there, because if he’s going to touch her ass, then she’s going to touch his chest. “I’m a perfectly mid-range pool player.”

 

“Says the girl who missed her last two shots,” he replies, his hand reaching to cover hers.

 

“You have to average them out with the ones I will make,” she says as she lets their fingers interlace against the warm cotton of his shirt.

 

“’Will make,’” he says. “So you’re assuming you’ll have more success going forward.”

 

There’s laughter in his eyes and she can’t stop her own laughter as she says, “You’re going to pay for this harassment later.”

 

“Oh really?” he asks, his eyes and his tone both turning suggestive as he draws her in closer. “Is that a threat, Griffin?”

 

“So it’s Bellamy’s shot, whenever you guys are done eyefucking,” Raven calls out, breaking them from the moment.

 

But Bellamy keeps grinning at her even after they’ve let go, and Clarke feels a deep pull of the attraction she knows is there, for her at least, and it’s bad. It’s really bad.

 

And it gets worse. Bellamy continues to tease her as she misses her next shot, even as she reminds him they’re _on the same team_. When she finally does make a shot, she throws her hands up triumphantly, swinging the pool cue around dangerously.

 

“Watch where you’re swinging that thing,” Bellamy says, reaching out to catch the end of the wayward cue in his palm. He pulls on it and tugs until her body is up against his. “Not a bad shot,” he murmurs.

 

“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming,” she replies, conscious of their closeness.

 

“Got another one in you?” he asks, looking down at her, his free hand skimming over her arm.

 

She pulls the cue free of his grasp and backs away to take the shot, and she swears she can feel his gaze raking over her. She lines up the shot, but narrowly misses, thanks to being intoxicated by both alcohol and the feel of Bellamy’s eyes.

 

“Goddammit,” she swears as she watches Raven line up to sink the eight ball. “I swear I’m better at pool than this.”

 

“I’ve known you for seven years, Clarke,” Bellamy says. “You are not better at pool than this.”

 

“You shut your mouth and be a supportive boyfriend, Bellamy Blake,” she replies, swatting at him.

 

He catches her wrist and pulls her in again with a sly grin. “Hey, I am a _great_ boyfriend. Maybe I just like winding you up.”

 

She laughs at him and lets him pull her into his arms because they’re drunk and it’s easy and they’re supposed to be dating so it’s okay to do these things. These things feel _good_.

 

“Aren’t you losers cute?” Raven says as she walks past them to get a victory drink, giving Clarke a mischievous wink. “If you really want to give these kids a show you should just make out.”

 

Raven can be evil sometimes.

 

“Yeah, make out!” Monty chimes in.

 

“Make out! Make out!” Jasper chants drunkenly.

 

Clarke’s laughter bursts out of her because they’re ridiculous and this whole situation is ridiculous. And then she looks up at Bellamy and his laughter is fading slightly and he’s looking at her mouth. She looks at his mouth too, which she’s known forever but never like _that_ , and she thinks, _why not_? Her eyes flick back up to his and she can see he’s thinking the same thing.

 

Might as well do it right.

 

She leans up and kisses him. He’s already holding her, and his arms tighten around her as he meets her in it, their lips hesitant for a millisecond before the kiss deepens. They’re both pretty drunk, so Clarke lets herself fall into the kiss. She marvels at first at what his lips feel like under hers, because of course she’s wondered what this might be like, but the physical reality is startling. The warmth and softness at first, and then the heat as their mouths open.

 

She’s stopped being careful, but she doesn’t really give a shit about that right now.

 

**

 

The minute their friends started ribbing them, Bellamy knew he was going to kiss Clarke. He knew it was probably going to happen eventually in this whole scheme of theirs. But he didn’t know what it was actually going to be like.

 

Turns out it’s pretty fucking great. She fits well into his arms, he’s discovered, whether tucked into his side or pulled up against him, and kissing her already feels like the logical next step even before the harassment starts. He’s found over the course of the night that being with Clarke like this is fun. There’s an energy between them that’s new, because they’ve never crossed the line into this territory before. Flirting, touching, the whole nine yards that he’s practiced over the years, but never with her.

 

She tastes good. Really good. He wants more and she gives it to him. Her flesh is soft against his fingers through her shirt as he holds her, and he tightens his grasp. The logical next step, if this were a real situation, would be to pin Clarke against the wall of the bar and keep making out with her, but this is not a real situation.

 

So when wolf whistles erupt from Raven’s general direction and the rest of the crew joins in, the heckling gives him a good excuse to stop. He pulls back and opens his eyes and watches Clarke breathe, her eyes still closed for a moment before they fly open and she’s staring at him, blue orbs shining with surprise. Her cheeks are flushed and her lips are damp.

 

“I think that worked,” he says, his more hoarse than anticipated.

 

Clarke just nods, and starts to pull away from him, and when he sees a slight sway in her step, he thinks maybe this is a good time to call it a night.

 

“Hey, do you want to get out of here?” he asks.

 

It’s a line he’s used plenty of times before, and it’s perfect in this situation because everyone already expects them to leave together, so it’s a natural exit.

 

“Yes,” she says, sounding grateful.

 

“Let’s do it, then.”

 

They say their goodbyes and get plenty of knowing looks from their friends, and head out into the fall night. As soon as they turn the corner, Clarke bursts out laughing.

 

“Did we just make out in a bar?” she asks.

 

Her laughter is contagious and he joins her. “Started to, anyway,” he says.

 

“We’re really good at this,” she says, gesturing between them.

 

“At what?” he asks.

 

“At pretending like we’re really into each other,” she replies. “It’s kind of scary.”

 

It is kind of scary, he thinks, but maybe not for the same reason she does. Bellamy isn’t so drunk that he’s unaware of how fucking confused he is. Or maybe it’s the drunkenness that’s lowered his inhibitions enough that he actually can admit how fucking confused he is. Because up until this point he’s been able to kind of shove any feelings aside and treat this all as a game they’re trying to win (after all, their friendship did start with them trying to win something together). But he’s drunk, and all of a sudden he knows what Clarke tastes like, and a big part of him wants more of that, of _her_ , and he doesn’t want to think about where that’s coming from or what that means.

 

“Do you want to split a cab?” he asks. They’d left together, but they’re not actually going home together like everyone thinks.

 

“Sure,” she says, looking at him thoughtfully as she walks to the curb to flag one down.

 

“What’s that look for?” he asks.

 

She smiles and shrugs. “I don’t know,” she says, and then she’s got a cab waiting and they’re climbing in. “I’m just thinking.”

 

“About what?” he asks once they’re in the back.

 

She sighs and leans back against the seat. “I’m too tired to articulate it.”

 

“It’s late,” Bellamy says.

 

“And we had a lot of beer,” she murmurs, her eyes drooping.

 

He moves over so she can lean on his shoulder as she gets sleepy, and soon her head is resting there. He lets his head tilt to rest on hers, and when she reaches over for his hand it feels natural to take it and twine his fingers with hers, even though there’s nobody there to convince. The implications of that can be dealt with in the morning. For now, he just lets himself do what feels good.

 

The ride to her building isn’t far, and when they get there he asks the cab driver to wait while he walks her to her door. She blinks herself awake enough to make it upstairs after she opens her door she turns to him.

 

“You could just stay over if you want,” Clarke says.

 

Bellamy’s eyes widen in surprise and then hers do too as she realizes what she said.

 

“I mean, like we do sometimes, you know? Stumbling home drunk together, nothing… it’s not like… I didn’t mean…” she stammers. She’s talking about how they sometimes pass out together at either of their places after a night out, sprawled together on a couch or haphazardly in a bed, and it’s never a big deal.

 

But things feel different now, even though they aren’t supposed to feel different. The physical contact has been so consistent all night, even continuing in the cab, that he’s not sure he could stay over and not keep touching her. They’re in dangerous territory, because as much as his body is telling him that’s not a _bad_ thing, his brain, even with a bunch of beer in it, is telling him that it will lead to nothing good. The situation is too complicated. They’re best friends in a fake relationship. If he wants to be able to touch Clarke for real, they need to have a real conversation about it, preferably when they’re sober and it’s not the middle of the night.

 

“I know what you mean,” he reassures her. “But I should probably go. I have to get up and get some grading done.”

 

It’s not a great excuse, and he thinks he sees a flash of hurt cross her face, but she nods and says, “Alright. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

 

Impulsively, he reaches out and lightly pulls her just close enough that he can kiss her on the forehead. “Goodnight, Clarke,” he says.

 

“Goodnight, Bellamy,” she says back, the look in her eyes unreadable as he walks away.

 

When Bellamy wakes up the next morning he's not as hung over as he could be, thank goodness, but his head is still foggy enough that it takes little while for the coffee to kick in before he can really start grading. He needs to get some work done, though, so he shoves on his glasses and gets set up at the kitchen table.

 

He also has a bit of a mental hangover, because the night before had been pretty intense when it came to his and Clarke's fake relationship. A drunken kiss at the bar in front of their friends was one thing, but what really has him rattled is that last kiss on the forehead that he gave her when he said goodnight. He'd felt a rush of something after declining to stay and he acted on the urge to show her that… well, he has no idea what he was trying to show her. He’d declined to stay, yes, but he knows now in the light of day that he'd had to leave because he _wanted_ to stay, for reasons entirely outside the bounds of this scheme of theirs, and entirely outside the bounds of their friendship.

 

He should be focusing on his grading, but his mind tries to sort these reasons out. Part of it is that he knows now, beyond a doubt, that his physical attraction to Clarke is deep, and intense, and if the kiss in the bar showed him anything it was that he wanted her in a very real, sexual way. He'd managed to shut that down, because it was _not_ an option, but now that it’s morning, years of careful control and denial are currently crumbling at his feet. 

 

But it's not just the physical side of things, because this is Clarke, and there are emotional feelings involved. A very tangled web of emotional feelings that are caught up in the physical closeness they've started toying with as a result of this situation, which seems to just trigger more feelings. Feelings are the worst. Clarke is his best friend. But now that they've started playing this game, he's starting to fear that knowing what it's like to be with her, at least on the surface, is leading to one increasingly obvious realization.

 

In the midst of all the fake stuff, he's developed a very real crush on Clarke. 

 

He slashes his red pen around a word on the paper he’s grading and scribbles a note in the margin as he groans at himself. It seems kind of backwards, to have a crush on Clarke now, given that they've already kissed and are “dating,” but there it is. After years of _not going there_ , he’s there. He wants to know what it would be like to kiss her for real, without any of the pretence, and that is a very scary thing.

 

Because how is he supposed to get there from here? They're in the middle of performing a big lie. And besides, she doesn't feel that way about him. He knows how she gets when she's interested in someone, having observed her getting involved with people over the years, and she is not like that with him. She gets excited and unsure of how to act, and kind of awkward. And it doesn’t make sense, because why Clarke—beautiful, talented, all-around-ideal-woman Clarke—would ever feel less than completely confident in a dating situation is beyond him.

 

So she doesn’t feel that way about him, he knows, because he knows her. He thinks he would know if she did. And now he has to figure out how to deal with his crush, because it’s the kind of thing he would go to Clarke about if it were someone else, but he can’t. He can’t tell her any of this. It’s too… he needs to figure his shit out first, figure out what’s actually going on other than _oh shit I want to sleep with my best friend and hold her hand and_ —

 

“Good morning, sunshine!” Octavia chirps suddenly, startling Bellamy out of his head.

 

“Jesus!” he says, sloshing his coffee. “You scared me.”

 

“Are you _grading_ on a Sunday morning after a night out?” she asks as she pours herself a coffee.

 

“Yeah,” he says, looking at the four papers he’s managed to get through. Out of twenty. “Just trying to make a dent.”

 

“You know you would have less grading to do if you assigned fewer papers,” Octavia points out.

 

“That would defeat the purpose of me teaching them how to write,” he replies. “Short assignments on a regular basis have been shown to—“

 

“Don’t care,” Octavia says. “I’m done with high school, none of that applies to me any more, _thank god_.”

 

“You know you still have to write papers in college, right? Even as a senior?”

 

“Whatever,” she says as she sits down across from him. “So. Last night.”

 

Bellamy scribbles a letter grade onto a paper and puts it on the pile. “What about it?”

 

“You guys were very convincing,” she says with a sly smile.

 

“That was point, right?” he asks, putting his pen down and settling in for the interrogation.

 

“Yeah, but I wasn’t expecting you to full-on make out in the bar like that.”

 

 “It wasn’t a full-on make out, it was a kiss. And it just kind of happened, so we went with it.”

 

“I know you and Clarke tend to get super committed to your weird projects, but that was like Fake Dating Oscar Nomination material,” Octavia says. “You even had _me_ convinced, and I’m fully aware of the situation.”

 

“Look, we figured out what works to sell the story. I don’t think being too good at that is a problem.”

 

“I didn’t say it was a problem,” Octavia remarks, her face taking on a thoughtful cast. “It just makes me think.”

 

“About what?” he asks, because he’s a masochist.

 

Octavia looks at him for a moment before speaking. “I know you and Clarke have never slept together because you’re both so insistent on correcting people when they assume that you have. But honestly? I’ve always wondered why you haven’t.”

 

“Because we’re best friends. It’s not like that between us,” he replies.

 

“That’s not how it looked last night.”

 

“That’s because we were _pretending_. Which was your idea in the first place.”

 

Octavia shakes her head. “No. I don’t care if you were pretending. You couldn’t keep your hands off each other. That’s chemistry, Bellamy. You guys have always had it, clearly, if your friends were betting money on you getting together in college—which is hilarious, by the way.”

 

“They’re assholes,” Bellamy says.

 

Octavia just laughs at him. “I know you hate it when I give you shit about your love life, but it’s my job as your little sister to do it. I’ve seen you with plenty of women over the years, and you never looked at any of them the way you looked at Clarke last night.”

 

“So?” Bellamy says. “Like I said, it’s just—“

 

“Pretend, I know,” Octavia says. “And it’s ‘not like that’ between you or whatever. But you’re not that good of an actor, Bellamy. You forget I saw your drama class performance when you were in high school. Seriously. Look me in the eye and tell me you’ve never thought about sleeping with Clarke.”

 

He just looks at her and says nothing, because he can’t tell her that, and she’ll know he’s lying if he does.

 

“Aha! I knew it,” she crows triumphantly.

 

“Clarke’s hot, of course I’ve thought about it,” he snaps. “But that’s not a line we cross.”

 

“Why not?” she asks.

 

He’s a little stunned by the question, because, well, it’s kind of a good one that he’s starting to ask himself, too.

 

“We just don’t, okay? Sex would screw up our friendship,” is all he can come up with.

 

“I’m not talking about just sex,” Octavia says. “Have you thought about what it would be like to be with her for real?”

 

“Not really,” he says. _Until recently_ , he thinks. This conversation sucks.

 

“Well I think you should,” Octavia says.

 

“Oh really,” Bellamy says.

 

“Yes!” Octavia says. “I do. You already have this crazy friendship bond, right? Everyone knows solid relationships are based in friendship. And you clearly want to jump each other’s bones, even if you both think you’re just pretending.”

 

“It’s not…” he says, trailing off. “It’s complicated.”

 

“Oh my god you _have_ thought about this,” Octavia says, incredulous.

 

He sighs. “It’s not like that. She’s not into me like that.”

 

“I’m sorry, were you not there last night when she was running her hands all over your body in public and undressing you with her eyes?”

 

“Reminding you that this is all pretend isn’t going to shut you up, is it?” he asks.

 

“Have you asked her how she feels?”

 

“Of course not.”

 

“Maybe you should.”

 

“No,” he says. “No way. The situation is too messy.”

 

“How so? You’re already all over each other, just make the lie into a truth.”

 

“It’s not that easy.”

 

“She’s your best friend! You guys talk to each other about everything. You should be able to talk about it with her.”

 

 “Well I can’t, okay?” Bellamy says. He’s too hung over for this shit. “Now don’t you have somewhere to be? Go hang out with Lincoln and give me some peace.”

 

“You’re an idiot,” Octavia huffs, but she gets up.

 

She’s probably right, though, about him being an idiot. Among other things.

 

**

 

Clarke’s hung over too, but she manages to drag herself to her studio to work. She’s got a good groove going and wants to keep her pace up since she’s got three large paintings to complete. She’s working in greens and blues, sea tones, and she lets herself get lost in the music and her thoughts as she sways in front of the canvas in her bare feet.

 

She’s feeling supremely confused after the night before. She’d kissed Bellamy and it had been an affirmation of the way she felt, the tumble farther into the abyss. Denying that she had real feelings for Bellamy was no longer an option. Kissing him had been too good, even a drunken kiss. She liked being with him like this. She couldn’t help herself when she was sleepy in the cab after and wanted to keep feeling his touch.

 

She cringes as she remembers the way she’d fumbled her suggestion that he stay, because it had come out sounding like she meant something and she’s not sure a secret part of her didn’t hope he would interpret it that way and say yes. He hadn’t said yes, of course, and she’d felt a bit rejected, even though she knew she shouldn’t. And then he’d kissed her on the forehead when they’d said good night and it was such a tender gesture that she didn’t know what to make of it. It was different from what they’d been doing in the bar. And she doesn’t know what that means.

 

At least, she doesn’t know what that means on Bellamy’s part. She knows that she herself is screwed.

 

She keeps painting into the afternoon until her phone rings and she sees it’s a strange number.

 

“Hello, is this Clarke Griffin?” a female voice asks when she picks up.

 

“Yes,” she replies, putting her paintbrush down.

 

“Clarke, this is Diana Sydney, principal of Central High School.”

 

Bellamy’s boss?

 

“Hi, Principal Sydney,” Clarke says, curious. “What can I do for you?”

 

“It was so wonderful to meet you at the gala last week and hear about your work from Cage Wallace,” Diana says. “I’d love it if you would come in and visit some of our senior art classes. I think the students would benefit from meeting and hearing from a young artist like yourself.”

 

“Oh, wow,” Clarke says. “That’s… a huge honor.”

 

“I know from Wallace how talented you are, and I did some research on your work. I think it would be a great opportunity. And your mother and I go way back. I got to catch up with her the other night.”

 

Ah, Clarke thinks. This is about connections. Principal Sydney strikes her as the opportunistic type, and her mother is an important person in the city. Clarke wonders sometimes if people would treat her differently if she had a different mother.

 

But she likes the idea of working with students, and she can’t help but be curious about where Bellamy works. So she accepts the offer and calls him as soon as she hangs up with his boss.

 

“You’ll never guess who just called me,” she says.

 

“Who?” he asks.

 

“Principal Sydney.”

 

“What?”

“She wants me to come in and talk to some of the art classes. She thinks it would be a good opportunity,” Clarke explains.

 

“She does? That’s pretty cool, actually. Some of my former students are in those classes. I bet they’d love to hear from a real artist.”

 

“You think it’s a good idea?” she asks.

 

“You don’t?” he replies.

 

“She kind of name-dropped my mom,” she tells him. “I feel like she’s just paying attention to me because my mom is important. She probably wouldn’t care if my last name wasn’t Griffin.”

 

“You know that’s not true, Clarke,” he says. “You’re an incredible artist. Nobody cares what your name is.”

 

It gets her deep in the gut, him saying that about her as an artist. He’s always been her staunchest supporter, there for her whenever she doubted herself. It’s another thing to add to the pile of reasons she’s fallen for him.

 

“Well I agreed to do it,” she says. “It’ll be later next week. Maybe I can stop by your class? See Mr. Blake in action?”

 

“That would be great,” he says, and she can hear him smiling through the phone.

 

There’s a pause, and Clarke thinks about starting a conversation about what happened last night, because it has her unsettled inside and when she’s unsettled, she talks to Bellamy. The problem, though, is that he’s the source of her feeling unsettled, and she’s not sure she can talk to him about that.

 

“You and Raven coming by for football tomorrow night?” he asks before she can say anything.

  
“Of course,” she says. “Octavia promised to make that killer dip of hers and I want to see how the week shakes out in the fantasy league. My team’s up against Raven’s.”

 

“So you’ll probably lose.”

 

They chat about football and not much else before hanging up, and Clarke gets back to painting, deciding it’s better to keep her feelings to herself for now. No need to turn everything on its head.

 

Everything about watching football is the same as usual, for the most part, except Clarke discovers that after getting used to touching each other like they’re a couple, it’s kind of weird to go back to the way things are when they’re not acting that way. She doesn’t really expect this, and catches herself skimming her hand over his shoulder as she passes him in the kitchen.

 

“Oh, sorry,” she says, jerking her hand back.

 

“For what?” he asks, confused.

 

“I didn’t mean to do that,” she says.

 

“Touch my shoulder?” he asks.

 

“Yeah, I just got in the habit the other night, I guess,” she says. “But everyone here knows, so.”

 

“You know we touched before we started this scheme,” he teases, but it doesn’t make her feel better.

 

“Of course I know that,” she snaps, and he looks at her in surprise.

 

She’s not sure why, but this sets her off. It irritates her that he’s being so nonchalant about it, even though this was never supposed to be a big deal. Of course, he has no idea that she’s figured out she has real feelings for him, which makes her extra irritated, because she feels the need to hide them from him. She doesn’t like the feeling of hiding anything from him, but here she is. It sucks.

 

The night takes on a strange mood from there. She starts overthinking every move she makes when she’s in his vicinity. Often when they watch sports they end up together on the couch, shoulders knocking against each other or one of them with their feet in the other’s lap, and it’s easy and normal and _them_. But the line feels blurry to Clarke now, and she parks herself in the armchair, avoiding him. She finds herself not wanting to cross that line like she had the other night in the cab. She’d been drunk then, more willing to be reckless. But now she’s back to being careful.

 

After the game ends, she gets her things to go and Bellamy meets her at the door while she waits for Raven.

 

“Hey, what’s your deal tonight?” he asks.

 

“My ‘deal’?” she asks.

 

“You’re acting weird.”

 

“No I’m not.”

 

“Yes you are.”

 

“How?” she asks. “We’re just watching football like we always do.”

 

“I don’t know, you’re just being kind of strange is all.”

 

She looks at him, his dark eyes filled with questions, and think that for all of the closeness they’ve been feigning, it feels like there’s a disconnect between them. And she fears this whole thing was maybe a bad idea, but it’s already too late.

 

“Maybe I just need some space after being so close the other night,” she says, unsure where the words are coming from, but she lets her defensive impulses take over.

 

A look of surprise crosses his face, and then his expression shutters. He’s quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Sorry the favour I’m doing for you is such an inconvenience.”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” she replies, but she can tell he’s already decided to be mad about this.

 

“I’ll see you later, Clarke,” he says gruffly, and she watches him go, her heart sinking. Her words had come out wrong, but they were rooted in truth, because she does need some space. Being close to him was too tempting. But she hates that she hurt him.

 

“What is going on with you two?” Raven asks as they head out to the car.

 

“Nothing,” Clarke says.

 

“Bullshit. Bellamy walked you to the door and then sulked off to his room like a petulant child. And you’re pouting too. Something’s up.”

 

Raven had laughed when Clarke had initially told her about the scheme, and then she’d instigated the pressure for them to kiss at the bar, but now she has a serious look on her face for the first time in a while.

 

“I don’t know,” Clarke admits. “It’s just weird, switching that stuff on and off. He called me out for being weird and I said I needed space.”

 

“You told the dude you’re fake dating that you need space,” Raven says. “You know he’s doing this for you, right?”

 

“Of course I know that,” Clarke snaps. “You think I don’t feel like an asshole right now?”

 

“I don’t get you sometimes, Griffin.”

 

“Can you drop me off at the studio? I think I want to work tonight.”

 

Clarke gets her music going and starts to set out her paints, but when she looks at them she realizes she’s not feeling driven to work the commission. The fire inside her is going in a different direction, and with all her mixed emotions about Bellamy, she revisits the urge she felt the other night to paint him.

 

She’d painted him once in college, for an assignment, and she’d sketched him plenty of times, just like she sketched Raven and Octavia and her mother and plenty of other people. But she hadn’t painted him again since. Her style is abstract, and she doesn’t typically paint people, but she can’t get the urge out of her head.

 

It was his eyes that sparked it the other night, so she gets out all the different shades of browns and blacks and golds and starts playing with colors. When she gets out a canvas and starts to paint, she finds herself sketching out the line of his jaw, the curve of his ear, his features coming together from her memory easily because he lives in her mind like that, one of the most important faces in her universe.

 

She paints and paints into the night, getting captured by the colors and the lines, and she pours her heart out, needing this outlet for her feelings, for all the confusion she’s been feeling lately. Now he’s irritated with her and she’s irritated with him, too, for making her feel this way, however unintentionally. Because she strongly suspects by now that she’s more than a little in love with him, and she’s backed herself into a corner where she can’t do anything about it. 

 

**

 

Bellamy’s not sure what happened on Monday night, but Clarke was acting odd and he was feeling confused and it all ended with her saying she needed space, which, what the fuck was that about? They can’t even hang out like they normally do? Maybe she was freaked out after Saturday night, after that stupid forehead kiss he should never have indulged in. It feels pretty stupid, really, but that doesn’t make it better..

 

They don’t talk to each other much that week, which is noticeable because they usually text regularly and see each other at least every few days. But there was something about the way they left things on Monday night, snapping at each other, and he feels like there are walls between them that weren’t there before.

 

He goes about his week like normal, busy with teaching and soccer practice, trying to put the thing with Clarke out of his mind as much as he can. But he can’t forget it completely, and he’s beginning to wonder if he should reach out and say something—because days in a row of not talking is just not _them_ —when he gets a text from her on Thursday evening.

 

_Sydney scheduled me to talk to the art classes tomorrow, is it still okay with you if I do it?_

The art classes. He’d kind of forgotten about that, but remembers now that it was supposed to be later in the week, and tomorrow is Friday. He types out a reply.

 

_Of course it’s okay._

A reply comes soon after.

 

_I just wanted to give you a heads up so you’re not surprised to see me in the halls._

He looks at his phone and feels the stress of a few days of things being off between them on his shoulders. Fuck. He contemplates texting her about what the hell they’re doing, but he holds back, because it’s too much to get into right now. So he comes up with a simple response.

 

_It’ll be good to see you._

 

It will be. He misses her.

 

He doesn’t actually know what time she’s planning on coming by the school, so he goes about his Friday like normal, keeping the kids in line and trying to get them to absorb as much as they can when they’re rowdy in anticipation of the weekend. He’s writing the weekend assignment to read a Steinbeck short story on the chalk board near the end of his sixth period ninth grade English class when he looks over at the door to his classroom and finds Clarke standing there.

 

He has to pause and take in the sight of her. She’s wearing black jeans and a blazer, and a shy smile on her face, and his heart beats harder in his chest because he’s missed her, and she’s beautiful. This is not helping his crush.

 

She’s not alone, however. Principal Sydney is with her, and the students, who had been chattering animatedly, grow quiet as she walks into the room with Clarke. Bellamy turns away from the board to face them.

 

“Hello, class,” Principal Sydney says with a fake smile. “This is Clarke Griffin, a local artist who’s come in to speak with some of the senior art students this afternoon. Mr. Blake, I hope you don’t mind, but I thought it would be nice to bring her by to say hello beforehand.”

 

“I don’t mind,” Bellamy says, although he’s unsure just how to act with her in front of his students. He turns to them. “Everyone say hello to Clarke.”

 

They mumble hello, awkward in the way that ninth graders always are, and then continue to be silent.

 

“Hi,” Clarke says, waving to the class and looking around the room. It’s like she’s taking in the space, his space with the posters of old book covers on the walls and shelves filled with the novels from his syllabi, and he finds himself wanting her to like it. She looks back at Bellamy and smiles, and it’s radiant.

 

The students continue to stare at her, all agog, until Mindy, one of the more outspoken ones, decides to speak up.

 

“Are you Mr. Blake’s girlfriend?” she asks through a mouth full of braces, causing the rest of the students to laugh and whisper amongst themselves.

 

Clarke blushes prettily and looks at him, as if saying _you want to take this one?_

 

“That’s none of your business, Mindy,” he says sternly.

 

This diversion backfires, of course, and causes more chatter and even some “ooooohs” because these are ninth graders with zero sense of what’s appropriate. Clarke handles it gracefully and just smiles at the students. The overall effect is that the students are now convinced she’s his girlfriend, because that’s how teenage logic works. So even his students are part of the audience for this fake relationship now. Great.

 

Mercifully, the bell rings then. Bellamy reminds the students of their assignment as they being to file out, and then he steps closer to Clarke.

 

“Sorry about that,” he says, his hand automatically touching her arm.

 

“It’s fine,” she says. “I like your classroom.”

 

“Thanks,” he says, and he’s pretty sure he’s blushing too, which is stupid, but unfortunately out of his control.

 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Blake’s girlfriend!” Mindy says cheekily as she heads for the door.

 

Clarke just laughs and says, “Nice to meet you, Mindy,” and Bellamy realizes that she’s good with these kids. Another nail in the crush coffin, he supposes.

 

He moves his hand from her arm to her back because now that he’s started touching her, he realizes he’s missed the contact, and they are still doing this in front of a believing audience, after all.

 

“Can we talk later?” he asks quietly, so nobody else can hear. “I feel bad about how we left things on Monday.”

 

“Sure,” she says, her eyes meeting his. She opens her mouth to say more, but they’re interrupted by Principal Sydney.

 

“We should get going to the art studio, Clarke,” she says.

 

She smiles at him conspiratorially as she leaves, and it’s funny, all of a sudden, to be doing this here with her. He smiles back as she walks away, like the big dumb idiot he is, with a big dumb crush on his best friend slash fake girlfriend.  

 

He has the last period free, and he decides he wants to try and grab Clarke before she leaves the school. He times it so he gets some work done and changes into his coaching clothes, a Central High t-shirt and soccer shorts, before heading to the art studio at the end of the period. When he gets there, he checks his watch and sees it’s still a few minutes before the bell rings, so he waits outside.

 

He can see Clarke talking to the students from his vantage point, and while he can’t see her face, he can hear the enthusiasm in her voice as she speaks about her art. He can tell the students are captivated, too. As much as he hates to admit it, because he doesn’t like Principal Sydney, this was a good idea.

 

He goes into the studio when the bell rings, and walks up to Clarke where she’s speaking with the art teacher and some of the students. She doesn’t see him until he touches her shoulder lightly, and she turns to him, her face lighting up.

 

“Hey Bellamy,” she says, and then her eyes run over him, taking in his change of clothes. “You didn’t have to come by, I know you have practice.”

 

“I wanted to see you before you left,” he says.

 

“Hey, Mr. Blake,” one of the students says, and Bellamy sees it’s Rico, one of his former students and soccer players, current captain of the varsity squad.

 

“How’s it going, Rico?” he asks.

 

“Good,” Rico says, eyeing Clarke again in a way Bellamy does not like. “I was just asking Clarke about art stuff and telling her she should come check out our game against Eastern tomorrow night. I didn’t realize you knew her.”

 

Bellamy slides his arm around Clarke until she’s tucked into his side and it’s very clear to anyone looking that they know each other, and well.

 

“That’s Ms. Griffin to you. I didn’t realize you were interested in art, Rico,” Bellamy says with an air of suspicion. “And if she’s going to any soccer games, they’ll be the JV team’s.”

 

“I see how it is,” Rico says with a laugh. He nods appreciatively at Clarke. “Damn, Mr. Blake, you have got fine taste in—“

 

“Don’t you have practice, Rico?” Bellamy interrupts before Rico can get any more inappropriate. “Get out of here.”

 

Rico just smirks and says goodbye to Clarke before swaggering out of the room.

 

Clarke turns to him and laughs as soon as she and Bellamy leave the art studio and head for her car.

 

“I can’t believe you,” she says.

 

“What?” he asks.

 

“You just got territorial over me with a teenager!” she points out.

 

“I did not,” he protests.

 

“You totally did. ‘If she’s going to any soccer games, they’ll be the JV team’s,’” she mimics in her version of his voice.

 

“Shut up,” he says, but he can’t help but laugh at her impersonation. “Rico’s a dumb jock, he shouldn’t be hitting on you like that.”

 

“A dumb jock. Says the soccer coach.”

 

“Hey, I’m a smart jock.”

 

“You’re ridiculous.”

 

When they reach her car, she leans back against it and faces him. “I haven’t really gotten a chance to thank you, lately. For doing this for me.”

 

“It’s no big deal, Clarke,” he says.

 

“It is a big deal,” she replies. “Look, I’m sorry about Monday night. I was in a weird mood.”

 

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” he replies. They’re both quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Can we promise each other that this thing we’re doing won’t ruin our friendship? It’s making us fight, and I don’t like that.”

 

“I don’t either,” she says.

 

“I get what you meant, about space,” he says.

 

“You do?” she asks.

 

“Yeah,” he says. “All that pretending was pretty intense. We just have to remember where the boundaries are.”

 

“Yeah, the boundaries,” she says quietly.

 

They just look at each other for a moment, and then the screech of a whistle reminds Bellamy that he needs to get to practice.

 

“I have to go,” he says. “Are we doing anything this weekend?” It’s a funny question, planning their pretend dating life.

 

“Um, I’m probably going to be working pretty late in my studio tonight,” she replies. “Tomorrow too. I’m in the zone right now.”

 

He knows how Clarke gets when she’s in her creative zone, consumed for days at a time as she works. It’s good that she’s getting work done on the commission.

 

“Okay, let me know if you need anything,” he says. Sometimes when she’s in the zone she needs food delivered to her, otherwise she forgets to eat.

 

She looks at him for a moment before rising onto her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks Bellamy,” she says, and she then pulls back with a smile and a wave as she gets into her car.

 

Her smile sends a jolt to his heart, and as she drives away he lets himself think about what this would be like if it was real, if she visited him at school and sent him off to soccer practice with a kiss. It’s embarrassing how much he likes the idea, so he puts it away for now.

 

**

 

Clarke works through the weekend, consumed by motivation after her visit to the high school. She’d loved speaking with the students, hearing about their projects and talking about her experiences with art classes in college and grad school. It reminded her of how she felt in high school and early on in college, her passion for art burning to break free of the confines of her good girl pre-med exterior, especially after her father passed away. Art class had been her sanctuary, the place where encouragement from her teacher gave her just enough hope to pursue it seriously, and now here she was.

 

Bellamy had been one of the people who encouraged her to major in art and go for what she really wanted, an incredibly supportive friend through a tumultuous time in her life. Her decision to drop pre-med had caused a lot of fighting with her mother, and she doubted herself constantly as she took more challenging art classes. He’d been there for her, and it’s that caring side of him that makes him such a good teacher, she thinks.

 

She’d loved seeing him in his classroom. Before he’d noticed her, he’d been laughing at something a student had said while he wrote on the chalkboard, his hair falling in his eyes at the end of a long day, and she’d melted inside at the sight of him. She also cursed him for being so goddamn handsome in his teacher clothes it wasn’t fair. And then he’d seen her and his face lit up even more, and he was even _more_ handsome, and her heart lurched, and yeah. She’s _definitely_ more than a little in love.

 

It wasn’t a completely new observation, and she’d seen it coming by a mile. But for some reason it was seeing him in that exact moment that made her give up any last hope of being careful. _Fuck being careful_ , her heart said. _You never even stood a chance._

 

She knows it’s true. She’d missed him in the three days they hadn’t spoken, and she can’t even remember why they were mad at each other in the first place. As far as she could tell by the time she’d called him on Thursday, she was simply livid with him for existing and being attractive and a good person and also her best friend and therefore off limits. All valid things to be irritated with, she’s sure. So she’s relieved when they talk after school, even though they talk about boundaries. Actually, it’s probably good they remember their boundaries, for her sake.

 

Clarke is scared. She hasn’t felt this way in a long time, probably ever. She can’t not do anything about it. But what if Bellamy doesn’t feel the same way? Or what if they did start dating and it went badly. No matter what, it’s a risk to their friendship. She goes back and forth between thinking she should say something and just get it off her chest, and wanting to keep it inside forever and never tell him. She’s not sure yet where she’ll land.

 

Her phone rings on Sunday afternoon, breaking her concentration in the midst of a long session working on the second painting in the commission series, which she’s started before finishing the first so she can pull them together conceptually.

 

It’s Cage Wallace.

 

“Hello Clarke,” he says, and she pictures his snaky eyes and shudders. “Are you in your studio this afternoon?”

 

“Hi Cage,” she says, hating to use his first name but knowing he will insist on it. “I am in the studio.”

 

“I was wondering if you’d mind me stopping by for a visit. I’d love to see where you’re going with the work so far.”

 

“Um, that’s fine,” she says, feeling obligated to comply even though she doesn’t want to, and then she remembers she has backup. “I’m only available after five, if that’s okay?”

 

“That works,” Wallace says. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve got so far.”

 

She calls Bellamy immediately afterward.

 

“Hey, Wallace just called me. He wants to come by the studio late in the afternoon. Do you mind coming over? I don’t want to be around him alone,” she admits.

 

“Of course I can come,” he says. “That’s the whole point of this, right?”

 

“Yes, it is,” she says. “Can you be here before five? You can bring your schoolwork or something, and I’ll order Chinese afterwards, pay you for your services in egg rolls.”

 

“Sounds good,” he says with a chuckle.

 

He gets to the studio a little before five and she wishes she was wearing something other than an old sundress she sometimes paints in and that she’d bothered to brush her hair that day, but when she’s in the zone she tends to forget things like that. It’s too late anyway, and he’s seen her at her worst so it shouldn’t matter, but of course an inconvenient side effect if acknowledging her feelings to herself is vanity.

 

“These look amazing so far,” he says as he gets set up on the couch with his grading, looking at the paintings.

 

“Thanks,” she says. “I’m trying to move the energy of the separate pieces from one into the other, a kind of transition between the elements. Not explicitly the elements, though, more just the color and the feel, if that makes sense? I started with water and am going to flow it into earth.”

 

“It does make sense,” he says, because he does get it. “I like it.”

 

“Thanks,” she says, unable to hide her pleased smile as he continues to take in her work. Yeah, she is so done.

 

There’s a knock at the door, and she goes to answer it. Wallace strides in like he owns the place.

 

“Hello, Clarke,” he says, and then he looks over and sees Bellamy. “Ah, you’re here too.”

 

“I am,” Bellamy says with a smooth smile that makes Clarke have to stifle a laugh.

 

Wallace demands to be talked through Clarke’s process so far, and she indulges him while Bellamy grades papers. It’s mostly tame until the end, when Wallace walks her up against her drafting table again, similar to the way he had in their first meeting. What is with this guy and personal space?

 

Fortunately, Bellamy notices almost immediately, and he gets up and goes over to them. The behaviour Clarke had thought was territorial the day before is nothing compared the way he looks at Wallace as he slides his arm around Clarke’s shoulders. His body language seems to do the trick, because Wallace backs off.

 

“How long are you planning on staying?” Bellamy asks him. “Because Clarke and I have plans tonight.

 

“Of course you do,” Wallace says. “I just want to hear a little more about your thoughts on the third piece, Clarke, and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

 

Bellamy stays with her as she continues to talk to Wallace, which seems to keep the man at bay. At some point he removes his arm from her shoulder and takes her hand instead, which she’s not sure is completely necessary, but she also doesn’t mind at all. Wallace manages to drag things out a while—he loves to hear himself talk—but eventually he takes his leave.

 

“I hope to do this again soon,” he says. “I’ll be in touch, Clarke.”

 

“Great,” she says as she shuts the door, letting her tone slide into sarcasm after she shuts it. “Ugh. What a creep.”

 

“Seriously,” Bellamy says.

 

They fall quiet for a moment and then look down at their hands, which are still joined. As soon as Clarke sees this, she disentangles her fingers from his, the air cool on the skin that had just been in contact with his. 

 

“That was good, right?” Bellamy asks.

 

“Yeah,” she replies, going to the mini fridge to get them both a beer. “It was.”

 

 _And a good job with boundaries, too_ , she thinks, simultaneously glad and sad they’re no longer touching.

 

“Jade Palace?” she asks as she hands him a beer.

 

“You know what I want,” he replies, taking the bottle and clinking it against hers.

 

She calls in their usual Chinese order, and they talk casually for a while as she starts cleaning up her studio, knowing she’s most likely done painting for the day. She’s ready for a break after a long weekend of almost non-stop work. It’s the first time they’ve hung out one-on-one in a while, and it feels good to just be together.

 

 _This is what you’re risking_ , she thinks, her inner turmoil from earlier coming back to haunt her. She’s afraid of losing this forever. But she can’t dwell on that, she knows, and forces herself to listen to what he’s telling her about the short story he’s re-reading so he’s ready to teach it this week.

 

When the food arrives, Clarke gets her wallet out to pay the delivery guy and asks Bellamy to grab some plates from the back of her studio where there’s a sink and a cupboard. She deals with the bill and turns back, expecting to find him with the plates but instead finds no one.

 

“Bellamy?” she calls out. She sets the food on the drafting table and walks past the canvases on the easels and stacked up in racks, back to where she’d sent him.

 

She finds him standing there, hands on his hips, staring at the painting she’d done of him the week before.

 

“Oh shit,” she says. She’d completely forgotten it was back there, where she’d propped it up against one of the racks to dry and then left it.

 

His eyes fly up to hers. “You painted me?”

 

“Yeah,” she admits.

 

“You’ve only ever painted me once,” he replies.

 

“I know.”

 

“That time in college, when you made me pose. Did you do this one from a photo or something?”

 

“Um, no. Memory.”

 

He looks back at the painting. “It’s so intense.”

 

She looks at the painting too. His eyes are the most detailed part of the piece, catching the viewer’s attention instantly, with the rest of his face coming into play in a more understated way and then a fading towards a dark blue and black background.

 

“I felt intense when I painted it,” she admits.

 

“When did you paint this?”

 

“Last Monday night,” she answers. “After I left your place.”

 

His eyes grow tender, and she doesn’t know if she can have this conversation. “I’m sorry, Clarke,” he says. “I know I already said it, but I don’t like fighting with you. I was just being stupid.”

 

“I know,” she says. “So was I. It wasn’t even a real fight.”

 

He looks back at the painting for a moment, and then back at her. “What are we doing?”

 

“What do you mean?” she asks.

 

“Ever since we started this fake dating stuff, I feel like there’s this wall between us,” he says, and then points to the painting. “You’re painting angry portraits of me? Is this how I make you feel?”

 

“No!” she exclaims. “It’s not an angry portrait. I’m not angry, I’m just… I don’t know what I am. I felt the urge and I painted it. I didn’t mean for you to see it.”

 

A look of hurt crosses his face. “You always show me your art. We always talk about what you’re working on. And you painted _me_ , and don’t want me to see it?”

 

He’s looking at her fiercely, searching her eyes, and she can feel his frustration. Well, she’s frustrated too. “Maybe I don’t show you everything! Or tell you everything! I wanted to paint your eyes, okay? I got a stupid notion in my head after you fucking _leaned_ at that gala—with no warning, which was _not fair_ —so I did it.”

 

“The leaning wasn’t fair? How is any of this fair?”

 

“It’s not! And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I got us into this mess, and I think we should stop.” There. She’s surprised when the words come out, but she realizes she believes them.

 

“You what?” he asks. “It hasn’t even been ten minutes since Wallace left, you know we have to keep doing this. I won’t let you be alone with that creep.”

 

“I don’t take orders from you,” she fires back. “It’s not about you ‘letting’ me do anything. And I’ll get Raven or somebody to be here with me next time. It’s not worth it anymore, to fight with you like this.”

 

“Are you fake breaking up with me?” Bellamy asks. “It’s not me, it’s you?”

 

“It is me!” she says. “I thought I could do this, but I can’t. I thought it would be easy to just pretend and not have it mean anything. But I’m not built like that, Bellamy. I can’t hold hands with you and feel nothing. I can’t kiss you and feel nothing. It screws with my head too much. So for the sake of our friendship, I think we should stop.”

 

He’s looking at her like he’s never seen her before. Dammit, she said too much. She turns to get away, walking fast enough to almost make it to the door of the studio before he reaches out and catches her wrist, halting her progress. The electricity that shoots through her veins at his touch is not helping her cause here.  

 

“What did you say?” he asks, and his voice is low, and dangerous for her sanity.

 

“Bellamy, you’re my best friend,” she says, trying to back track. “We’re too close, that’s the problem. Maybe this would work if we didn’t know each other so well, but—“

 

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” he says, and steps closer to her, his fingers still circled around her wrist. “You feel something?”

 

Her heart is hammering now. “I can’t… not,” she says, her voice quiet. She feels vulnerable and exposed and wants to crawl into a hole.

 

His thumb runs over her pulse point, causing a shiver to trickle up her arm. “I can’t not either,” he says.

 

Wait. What?

 

Before she can form a response, Bellamy leans down and kisses her. He’s cautious at first, his lips touching hers lightly, nothing like their drunken kiss the week before. Clarke is stunned. He pauses, waiting for her response, and when she moves her lips against his, their bodies shift closer together. His free hand comes up to cradle the side of her face, tilting her head slightly so the angle is perfect.

 

He pulls back before the kiss intensifies too much, but remains close. His pupils are dark and wide, and searching her face, and she’s sure she wears a similar expression.

 

“Did you feel that?” he asks.

 

She nods.

 

“Good,” he says, and then they’re kissing again, and this time they go deeper, opening their mouths, tasting each other. Everything feels a million times more intense than it had the first time they’d done this.

 

“What are we doing?” she asks the next time they break apart, echoing his question from earlier.

 

“I’m pretty sure we’re kissing for real,” he says against her ear. “Is that okay with you?”

 

She just nods and pulls him back in for more.

 

Now that they’ve started, they can’t seem to stop, even though Clarke knows they should probably talk, and their hands are suddenly everywhere as they stumble back toward the couch. She pushes him slightly so he sits down and she means to follow onto his lap, but they’re both distracted by the sound of crumpling paper.

 

“Dammit,” Bellamy says, pulling a few English essays out from under him.

 

Clarke tries and fails to stifle a giggle. He tosses the papers out of the way and reaches for her, pulling her until she straddles him on the couch, her paint-stained sundress riding high on her thighs. He runs his hands over her legs and up her sides, looking at her appreciatively.

 

“So this is happening,” he says.

 

“Is it?” she asks, still feeling nervous, because she’s so used to thinking it’s not an option.

 

“Are you surprised?” he asks.

 

“Yes,” she says. “I was convinced you didn’t look at me that way.” 

 

“Really?” he asks.

 

She nods as he moves his hands up to draw her face down for another kiss.

 

“Well, I look at you that way,” he says when he pulls back. “I got good at ignoring it, though, because I was convinced you’d never look at _me_ that way.”

 

“Really?” she asks, and she’s feeling bold, because his hands are teasing the hem of her dress now and, well, it’s pretty obvious that he’s into her. “Well you’re pretty unobservant, because I’ve kind of been in love with you for years.”

 

His eyes widen. “Why didn’t you say something?”

 

“Because you’re my best friend,” she explains. “And we were always seeing other people, and I really thought you didn’t see me like that.”

 

“What changed your mind?”

 

“I guess all this pretend stuff made me finally admit to myself that I wanted you for real. Which scared the shit out of me, by the way,” she says. “It still kind of does.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because of our friendship. This… if we do this, there’s no going back to the way things were before,” she explains.

 

“I’m pretty sure the time for turning back came and went a while ago,” Bellamy replies. “This whole pretend relationship really woke me up, Clarke.”

 

“It did?”

“Yeah. I was in denial for a really long time. I’ve always wanted you, I think, but I wouldn’t let myself feel it. I couldn’t. But at the same time I was searching for something that’s been right in front of me all along, I just didn’t realize it was an option. I want to be with you. No pretending.”

 

“I want to be with you, too,” she says, her gaze soft as she meets his.

 

“It only took blatantly lying to our friends and loved ones and half the city to figure it out,” he remarks.

 

She laughs and kisses him again, pouring her heart into it.  

 

**

 

They proceed to make use of the couch in her studio in an entirely new way, which Bellamy suspects is going to be the case for a lot of things in the near future. He still can’t quite believe it’s real until he pulls her sundress over her head—a dress he can remember her purchasing years ago, and he’d seen it go from new to old to painting clothes—and she’s perched on his lap in nothing but her underwear and bra and a wanton look on her face.

 

“Why did we wait so long to do this?” he asks before he buries his face in her perfect breasts.

 

“Because we’re dumb,” she replies on a sigh as he pulls the fabric of her bra down to reach her nipple. “And timing.”

 

She reaches behind to unclasp her bra, giving him full access, of which he takes advantage, and their hands run everywhere. She tugs at his shirt until she pulls it over his head and then goes to work on his pants, tumbling back briefly so he can lift his hips and let her pull them off.

 

His hands scrabble for the waistband of her underwear pull until they fall to her ankles and once they’re both naked, he tugs her hand until she’s back over his lap. They kiss again—he can’t get enough of that, really—and his hands find her hips as hers find his cock and they pause as she’s poised over him.

 

“I know you got tested back in April because you complained about going to the doctor,” she says. “Still clean?”

 

He nods and asks, “Are you still on the pill?”

 

She nods, and then he leans up to kiss her as she sinks down onto him and he moves his hips to meet her. She cries out softly and their eyes open, and it’s kind of a lot, being inside Clarke for the first time. He’s pretty sure it’s the best feeling in the world. They begin to move together, and the combination of urgency and tenderness is almost overwhelming. When he feels her tighten around him, he lets himself go too, and they slump together on the couch afterwards.

 

“So what do we do now?” Bellamy asks.

 

“Besides eat Jade Palace?” Clarke replies.

 

“Yes, besides Jade Palace,” he replies, chuckling as he kisses her temple. “Like, the future.”

 

“What’s the narrative now, you mean, Mr. English teacher?” she says. “Our fabricated story was pretty good, but now we have a real story that’s way better.”

 

“Seriously,” Bellamy says. “Fake dating. Who does that?”

 

“Idiots,” she says, lacing her fingers with his against his bare chest. “But it seems to have turned out for the best. As for the future, well, I can’t really tell much beyond the fact that I want you to be my real boyfriend, and we’ll probably have to go through a series of embarrassing admissions about what’s going on.”

 

“That is true,” he says. “I’m glad you want me to be your real boyfriend, because I was getting all ready to harbour this massive crush on you for the foreseeable future, and actually being your boyfriend seems like a way better deal.”

 

“I think it’ll be a good future,” she says, diving in for another kiss.

 

“Me too.”

 

As it turns out, nobody is surprised when Bellamy and Clarke reveal to their close friends that they are actually dating, as opposed to fake dating. They do this at Bellamy and Octavia's place the next night, when everyone is over to watch Monday Night Football. They've decided to start with this crowd before telling the rest of their friends that their secret summer romance was a fabrication (Bellamy’s still kind of mad they didn’t include the espionage caper for good measure).

 

"Wow, I'm shocked," Miller says sarcastically. "Just kidding, I am the opposite of shocked. The only thing that surprises me is that you caved so fast."

 

"So fast?" Clarke asks.

 

"I could have watched this train wreck for weeks," Miller explains. "In fact, I had money riding on it dragging out for at least a month. So thanks for that."

 

"Money?" Bellamy groans. “What did I tell you guys about wagering on us?”

 

"Haha! I win, bitches!" Octavia shouts, her first coherent words since she began laughing maniacally at the announcement.

 

Raven is shaking her head in disgust. "I bet you guys wouldn't last a week. What the hell took you so long?"

 

"Train wreck?" Clarke says, still stuck on Miller's words.

 

"Have you met your boyfriend?" Miller replies. "And yourself, for that matter?"

 

"Hey," she chastises.

 

"I mean that lovingly," Miller replies. 

 

"Sure you do, dickhead," Bellamy says. "Besides, you're one to talk. Watching you and Monty around each other is like watching a... boat wreck. A car crash? Too grim?"

 

Miller just rolls his eyes. "The point is, I can't believe you didn't fuck it up more than you did."

 

"Have I told you lately how lucky we are to have such supportive friends?" Clarke asks, giving them all the stink eye. 

 

Octavia comes over and hugs her until she smiles again. "Come on, Clarke, we're just teasing. We deserve this after years of watching you dance around each other."

 

"That's what I'm saying, Octavia," Miller agrees. 

 

"You guys are the worst," Bellamy says, and Octavia hugs him, too, until he smiles.

 

Later, when they're settled on the couch, Bellamy pulls Clarke in until she's curled against him comfortably. It's nice to be able to do this and not think about who's watching or what the intent is. 

 

"Hey, what are you doing tomorrow night?" he asks 

 

"Nothing, why?" she replies.

 

"I was thinking we could watch _Jurassic World_. You can download it on iTunes now."

 

She looks at him, surprised. "You want to watch it again already?"

 

He shrugs. "I know you didn't like lying to people about us, so I was thinking we could count that as our first date. Chips away at that story a little bit."

 

Her eyes soften. "Are you serious? Bellamy, that's so sweet. And thoughtful. I didn’t realize you were such a sap."

 

"I also just love dinosaurs," he says. 

 

She laughs, a sound he's always loved but now loves in a new way, and leans in to kiss him, inspiring groaning from their friends. 

 

If this is how it's going to be from here on out, he's happy with that, and from the way Clarke smiles when she pulls back, so is she.

 

It will be a good future. 


End file.
